Lure
by leo-lehcarth
Summary: Slightly AU. The becoming of four from three; the trials of two stubborn women, and the revelation of one secret prophecy. Femmeslash. Fleur/Hermione.
1. Chapter 1

_**I don't own anything, except my fingers =/ JK Rowling deserves all the credit for coming up with the world of Harry Potter =)**_

_**Warning: Femmeslash**_

_**This takes place in the trio's 6th year. Does not follow HBP.**_

_**A.N: I know I redid this story quite a few times already, but I really want to improve on my writing. The switching points of view made the story rather confusing, in my opinion at least. And I find that it doesn't allow me much time to develop the characters and stuff. Well, I really sincerely hope that I had gotten better.**_

_**LURE**_

Shadows flickered, as blazing flames danced in the old brick fireplace in the round, circular office of Albus Dumbledore. Warmth enveloped the dimly lit room, which despite the minimal light present, has a rather soothing and homely feel to it. And right in this particular room, two surprisingly opposite figures, a thin, old man and a rather large woman were engaged in a deep conversation.

"Professor Dumblyy-doree, are you ceeertain of this arrangeee-ment?"

The woman's voice was filled with concern, and a bit of something else. Doubt. Uncertainty was reflected in her eyes, and her forehead was creased with worry.

Echoed her voice did in the small enclosed room, and as it bounced off the walls, it almost seemed as though her worry was magically amplified in her voice by the room itself.

The thin old man lifted his head steadily and studied the woman's features intentively with eyes of blue. The lines of age that was etched upon his face grew more prominent as he gave her an assuring smile, before opening his mouth to speak.

"I am, my dear Madame Maxime. I understand that she was your best student, but I hope that you will understand. Only by having them together can we help dear Harry to bring down Lord Voldemort. I am deeply apologetic that I cannot indulge you with more details, but I assure you that all will be revealed in due course."

The old man always had a knack for staying calm in the tensest of all situations, and that is a rare and useful gift to have, especially at a time like this. His calming smile helped to lessen the tension hanging in the air, which was so thick that breathing could become quite a difficult task. Madame Maxime let out the breath that she has held for five seconds, exhaling heavily. She pursed her lips in uncertainty, as large hands and fingers fumbled with the delicate handbag resting on her lap, having a debate with herself on whether or not to trust the man.

Knowing the inner battle in which the woman was facing at that moment, Albus Dumbledore willed himself to remain calm and put on a look of pure certainty. His composure was a crucial factor that could either earn him the lady's trust, or to lose it completely.

It soon became a battle of wills, as the two held eye contact in a tensed, silent conversation. The old man's determination shone right through his twinkling blue eyes, while doubt floated in the lady's eyes of amber. To the observer, it was pretty clear that the old man has the upper hand, for the lady's gaze flickered and wavered under his unrelenting one. But never once did Albus lowered his guard, and no hint of triumph surfaced either; he merely held his steady gaze, awaiting the lady to voice out her decision.

It was after deep contemplation did Madame Maxime made her final decision. After all, the matter was not one which could be taken lightly. It greatly concerned the fate of the Wizarding world, not to mention the lives and safety of all involved.

And it was no more than thirty minutes later when the lady emerged from the gates of the old castle, her face a mask of calmness. A few strides forward and a pause; Madame Maxime threw a glance back at the old, majestic building. With a last, long look, the large woman then pivoted on her right foot rather gracefully for someone her size, and disappeared with a flourish and a whip of her long satin robes.

******

It was not too long later, when Hogwarts came to be brimming with life and vitality once again. The end of the summer break brought about the start of yet another school year.

It marked the start of a new year of excitement, learning and fun at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Most were happy to be back, which was quite obvious from the bright smiles and quick steps of the throng of students heading into the Entrance Hall through the wide, open doors. Of course, they could have been hungry and anxious for the start of the Feast, but listening in to their conversations, which revolved around Hogsmeade trips, spells and gossips, showed that that was clearly not the case for most. In any case, Hogwarts was alive once again after a long summer break.

And if one look closer, within the chattering crowd, one would see three unusually quiet teenagers squeezed together as they drifted along with the flow of students flooding into the Great Hall, which certainly lived up to its name. Four long tables filled the length of the huge hall, with another shorter one perpendicular to all the rest, isolated at the very front on a stone platform. Rows of benches took their places next to their wooden companions, though individual chairs had their place behind the staff table. One stood out particularly, with a high back and intricately designed body. Being positioned in the centre of the row of individual chairs had only contributed to its prominence. And it was at this particular chair at which one of the three teenagers glanced, knowing full well that it would be occupied by the man he respected the most in mere minutes.

A lanky red-head ambled along, next to the black-haired teen who had just directed his gaze to that particular chair, and paid only the slightest bit of attention to where he was going so that he would not trip over his elephantine feet.

And last but not least, behind these two boys came a girl with a mane of bushy-brown hair, who was clutching tightly in her hands a copy of Hogwarts: A History.

Despite reading it for countless times, Hermione Granger never grew bored of it, for it was the very first book she had read about the wizarding world, after discovering that she was a part of it six years back. Her fascination with magic and fantasy was something her parents grew used to when she was young, but like Hermione herself, never did the Grangers expect that their only daughter is a witch.

The revelation did came as a shock, especially since neither of Hermione's parents had a drop of magical blood or history in them. Thankfully, they were a very open-minded couple, and accepted her true identity even more readily after they had got over their initial shock than she herself did. Fears popped out one after another, and the brunette was overwhelmed by the sudden rush of confusion and excitment. And...fear of not being accepted by the other student. After years of being bullied and out casted in school, eleven-year-old Hermione had grown to be wary of all things unfamiliar in fear of being tricked or bullied. But with much assurance and a spell or two performed by Minerva McGonagall, the young girl grew to understand and accept her identity.

Ever since she found out that she is a witch, curiosity fuelled her thirst to know more about the magical world that she had never known before. She was never one who liked to be kept in the dark or to be unsure of anything, and she always seek to find out as much as she could on any unfamiliar things that she come across. This strong learning spirit did aid her a great deal, especially in her studies, earning her the reputation of being the brightest witch of her age. The title did not came as too much of a surprise to her delighted parents though; her level of intellect has always surpassed that of her peers, whether magical or not.

It was there at the old castle of Hogwarts where she, together with the other students, was introduced to the art so few knew existed. The years at Hogwarts came and went quickly, with each passing year being filled with more dangers and challenges than the previous one. You-Know-Who has risen once again, throwing the wizarding world into the midst of chaos and darkness, and it certainly did not help matters at all that she was a good friend of the boy who attracts trouble like a magnet.

The famous teen wizard, with his wild head of jet-black hair and his statement lightning-shaped scar, was none other than Harry Potter. Who was also conveniently seated right in front of her as they await the start of the Feast. The many famished students in the Great Hall were almost bouncing in their seats, anxious to see delicacies spread across the long House tables. Not many, sadly, had their attention on Albus Dumbledore, who was addressing the school just as he did every year with his welcoming speech.

"… This year, we are delightfully honoured to have a newcomer to join us! Please put your hands together and welcome Professor Delacour, who will be here at Hogwarts under internship as the assistant Transfiguration professor!"

The elderly Headmaster concluded his speech with the introduction of a new addition to the staff ranks, sweeping his hand out to gesture at the side door.

Professor Delacour?

Hermione's attention was snapped back to the present. The students were packed in the Great Hall, seated in accordance to their Houses. Brave Gryffindor, loyal Hufflepuff, brainy Ravenclaw, and ambitious Slytherin. The Hall was decorated with drapes of cloth the colours of the four Houses, which thankfully relieved it of some of the monotony and dullness it possessed.

But the brunette was not interested in the decorations, or the excited chatters of the students that had started after the Headmaster's unexpected announcement. Instead, she found herself drawn to a certain door that led off from the side of the Great Hall, which had swung open to reveal a slim, beautiful blonde. Silence descended upon the Great Hall as all eyes snapped towards the newcomer.

Adjusting the front of her midnight blue robes, Fleur Delacour exited the small, dingy room, though not at all unhappy in doing so, and entered the Great Hall. She was pretty ruffled and annoyed that she was kept in that dark, dingy room for at least two hours. Of course, there wasn't a clock in that room. It would not have been in working condition even if there was one. Fleur had read quite enough to know that electronic gadgets do not work here in Hogwarts. But luckily, there's still magic, Fleur thought in irritation.

The woman strode in from the side door with an air of confidence, her posture perfect, her expression one of coolness. The sound of heels against the cold, stone floor resonated throughout the Hall, which was otherwise silent as everyone stared transfixed at the Veela. She turned on her heels to face the student population upon reaching her place at the table, and with a small smile, tilted her head slightly in acknowledgement, though inwardly cringing in disgust.

The fake smile vanished almost as suddenly as it had appeared, and Fleur Delacour made sure to try not to roll her eyes at the expressions, or the lack of, of the students. The males, as expected, wore dazed looks that could rival that of Inferi. With glazed and lust-filled eyes, the male species were all rendered incapable of logic, and they could almost_ drown_ in their own drool.

But one stood out from all the rest, the only one who seemed to have retained her brains in all the glory of the part-Veela.

Hermione Granger widened her brown eyes at first sight of the goddess reincarnate, and slackened muscles caused her lower jaw to drop without her conscious thought. That unglamorous scene thankfully did not last long, as shock and surprise was soon muffled by cynicism which ran through the brunette's mind when the blonde strode into the room with strong, confident strides. Hermione Granger closed her gaping mouth, clenching her jaws together tightly.

The expression on Fleur Delacour's face was aloof, and not to mention, freezing cold. From her expression, it seemed to Hermione that she herself did not really like the idea of being an intern there. That set the gears in the brainy girl's head turning, searching for the reason why that Frenchwoman had accepted the job then, if that was the case. Raising an eyebrow, she shot a skeptical look at the staff table, where the part-Veela had took her seat with grace with what was clearly a nonchalant look etched upon her beautiful face_. _

Icy blue eyes swept over the Hall, and connected with amber.

Fleur narrowed her eyes as Hermione stiffened visibly under her gaze. Frowning slightly at the student, Fleur stared right into her chocolate-brown orbs, not knowing why the girl was so affected just by her mere gaze alone. If anyone were to ask the platinum-haired woman why that girl was so hostile towards her, she would have shrugged and say that she has no idea. However, though Fleur may seem quite unconcerned, she was curious to know why one of the best friends of The Boy Who Lived would dislike her with burning passion. The intern noted with a slight hint of disappointment, that the Granger girl seemed to be filled with boiling hatred for her, so full of it that it was spilling out of her in her very glare.

Fleur Delacour was definitely not very keen on making enemies on the very first day of school. And worse still, for a reason that she has no knowledge of.

However, the part-Veela did hazard a guess that it was her heritage causing the problem. The idea just came to her, and she suspect that the Granger girl was just jealous of her blood, like most other females.

But even so, there was no way the tall blonde is going to worry herself over these petty females. She had long grown accustomed to the jealousy of the female population and the disgusting stares from the male population. She could obviously handle a hormone-charged, fiercely jealous teenager. She kept her emotions out of her gaze as she looked back into the brown eyes of the student with an unfriendly expression of her own. Two could play the game.

Angry at not knowing the actual reason why the blonde was there, Hermione glared back with an unrelenting stare. Both refused to look away, and the intensity of the stares was so much that there was an unmistakable tension rising between the two. But neither wavered, and maintained eye contact for quite a while until the new intern finally grew bored and turned away.

There were far more interesting things that mattered to the blonde in the old, drafty castle than a hostile brunette.

"Fleur?"

The woman turned towards the source of the voice, to find Minerva McGonagall looking at her with apparent concern in her eyes.

"_Oui_ Professor?" With a politeness that seemed slightly strained, the Frenchwoman replied questioningly.

"Call me Minerva. Nothing much, you just seem a bit overwhelmed. By the students, I presume?"

_Overwhelmed_. Fleur snorted silently at the older woman's choice of words. The young Veela has experienced enough to know what to do in this type of situations, if she was even concerned about it in the first place. If not, it wouldn't be unusual for her to just tune all out and not bother herself with any of it. It was obvious that she does not like it when others stare, but Fleur Delacour certainly is not so easily fazed by it.

But, for lack of an appropriate answer, Fleur decided that there was no harm in a white lie.

"Maybe by ze stares. Don't worry, I'm all right. Thanks for ze concern."

That seemed to satisfy the professor, who nodded quite sympathetically before turning away.

Fleur Delacour rolled her eyes heaven-wards towards the turned back of Minerva. Even though she understood that there was good intentions behind McGonagall's concern, she couldn't help but feel slightly amused that the older woman actually thought her to be one who is easily affected by her environment and the people around her.

To Fleur, they meant nothing. All that she was concerned about was her responsibilities and doing what she was supposed to do well. Anything else would not be worthy of her concern and her time. The Delacour was not one who would waste time and effort over things that she has no interest over. This is to say, _almost everything_.

And far off from the teacher's table, Hermione watched the exchange between the two discreetly between small mouthfuls of potato. It was quite obvious to the brunette's keen and observant eyes that Fleur was not at all interested in the conversation.

And that irritated said brunette to the core. She always had a low tolerance level to superficial and hypocritical people.

Fleur Delacour may have the looks, but to Hermione Granger at that moment, looks were not everything. Hermione had always believed that inner beauty, and not outer, is all that matters. But looking at Fleur, it was quite hard to stick to her beliefs.

Hermione was feeling very much...confused. With herself.

Though Fleur was indeed undeniably beautiful, there was something about her that made Hermione slightly uncomfortable. A part of her had felt vulnerable and lost in the part-Veela's stare, as though she was drowning in the icy blue depths of the Delacour woman's gaze. The brunette tried to shake off the feeling that the blonde's piercing eyes seemed to be able to see right through her.

Uncomfortable and rattled, intense dislike for the part-Veela took its root in Hermione Granger then.

And Hermione could not shake off the feeling that things were only just beginning to get a little complicated.

******

The entire time, not one soul in the Great Hall had noticed that the exchanges between the new intern and the Gryffindor prefect were closely monitored by a certain silver-haired old man. Albus Dumbledore took a sip of his pumpkin juice, then gave it the smallest of frowns. It seemed to be lacking of flavour. But that wasn't the most pressing of all matters at hand, and so he chose to just make do with it.

It was the two stubborn women that he was more concerned about.

Habitually pushing his half-moon spectacles up the bridge of his slightly crooked nose, his sharp eyes darted over to where the Golden Trio was seated. He hoped, with all of his age-old heart, that it would not be long before three becomes four.

He knew that, in accordance to the secret prophecy, that the two females would ultimately hold the key to the Dark Lord's defeat.

The opportunity was already created, to bring the two females closer for the bond to forge itself. However, it would all be up to them to fulfil the prophecy, unknown to them, even Harry Potter. Only if everything proceeds in the direction the Order wished then could the prophecy be revealed to them.

The results of the prophecy would be cruel though, as the love the two would have built up would be sacrificed. The love that they would have come to share would be forgotten once the Dark Lord was defeated, as it would be the love that defeats the Dark Lord.

Love is the strongest weapon on the side of Light, and it is only natural for the Order to use it to its fullest.

And the Greater Good of the wizarding community lies, only in the hands of Love.

**

_**Please let me know how to improve yea? Thanks=)**_


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N:** All right, chapter 2! Thanks to all those who reviewed, you guys really made my day! =) Junior college is...hectic, but I'm trying my best. Plot bunnies are evasive, but I'll catch them one day. xD

And for the problem with my tenses...Please point them out to me if you guys spotted any! Looking for a beta-reader xD

**

For the sixth years, the first few days back breezed pass in the blink of an eye, far too quickly for their liking. Neither were the first lessons of every subject interesting or welcoming to them, what with all that seemingly incessant nagging from their subject professors. Constant reminders were laid upon them again and again, and all the reminders pointed blatantly to the fact that the NEWTs were fast approaching in less than two years time. Mere days were all it took to etch that fact deeply into their heads, whether they had liked it or not. It was so extreme to the extent that Hermione Granger found herself learning Professor McGonagall's lecture on the importance of the NEWTs by heart, after having heard it for at least three times. It couldn't be helped; the sixth years' performance in Transfiguration were so far from the strict woman's desired standard that she found herself repeating the same old speech every other lesson, in quite an agitated and worked up manner too.

It wasn't that the students had not knocked that dreaded fact into their head. The transition to the higher level of education was not as easy as most had initially thought. Some were already struggling with their work, and it was barely one month back at school. Well, not all were in that tragic state though. There were some exceptional individuals, who with their high level of adaptability and intellect, managed to cope with the heavy topics and complex wandwork. Hermione was, not surprisingly, one of them. Seeing that she had started her preparations during the summer break, it was not much of a surprise, really. What was surprising though was that she still felt that she was not doing enough.

"'Ermio-ne, whuy arh yew rehding tha' now? Eet's brehkfast!"

Specks of food and saliva flew out from Ron's bulging mouth, which was so fully stuffed that it took every ounce of effort for him to chew and swallow without choking. Taking that into consideration, it could be considered quite an achievement for him to speak, even though what he said was hardly understandable. Hermione seemed to think otherwise though; her expression explained everything. She snapped the thick volume of Tricky Transfiguration shut and attempted to dodge the horrible spray of food. Disgust was apparent on her face, and her lips were pulled back in an obvious grimace as she recoiled away from the sprinkler of a boy.

Harry thumped the glutton of a boy on the back, and that was all it took for the redhead to jerk forward sharply and swallow everything down in a single breath. A coughing fit took over as the poor boy grabbed his throat with his massive, rough hands in a vain attempt to clear his airway.

The sight of Ron hacking and coughing away invoked the slightest amount of pity in the brunette. Hermione wasn't all that heartless; if she were, she would not have been sorted into Gryffindor house but Slytherin instead, right? Seeing this as the wrong time to be angry with Ron, who was turning a nasty shade of purple as his body shook with violent coughs, Hermione, though somewhat reluctantly, whipped her vinewood wand out. A flick of her wrist, a thought of the incantation, and Ronald's windpipe was unblocked. She hastily whipped her precious book out of harm's way once again as Ron gasped and spluttered, gulping down huge volumes of air thankfully.

"Th-thanks..."

The brunette merely turned her face away irritably as she stuck her wand back into the confines of her robes after siphoning off the bits of food sprayed onto her unfortunate book. Ron shot a glare at Harry, who merely shrugged and returned to his plate.

"You should take smaller bites, Ron. Preferably more manageable ones."

Stubbornness seemed to run in the blood of the long standing Weasley clan. Ignoring Harry's wise advice, the redhead stabbed a hard-boiled egg (the shell has already been removed) quite aggressively and shoved the entire egg into his cavernous mouth. Not more than a second later, Ronald suffered the consequence of his ignorance and choked.

Again.

Having enough of all the nonsense, Hermione rolled her eyes, gathered her stuff in silence and stiffly walked off towards the Entrance Hall with her head stuck high. Ronald, with his eyes streaming from the violent coughing fit, poured the entire contents of his goblet into his mouth and then thumped his fist repeatedly against his chest.

"See? I told you." A calm Harry merely continued with his breakfast, finishing the last few mouthfuls of scrambled eggs and toast. Ron choke over his food so very often that Harry couldn't be bothered to care, for he knew that it was nothing unusual or life-threatening. At least not for Ronald Weasley.

After breakfast, and after Ron had got over his second choking of the day, the boys hastily headed back to the Gryffindor Tower and their dormitories to grab their Transfiguration stuff. They had not seen Hermione ever since she left the breakfast table, and both assumed that she had headed off for class straight without them, which was exactly what she had done. Hermione was not going to waste time waiting for them to return to their dorms for their books and risk being late for class. One could always count on Harry and Ron to forget their Transfiguration books when it was the first lesson of the day.

Ascending the steps, Hermione took care to skip the trick step, which would trap the feet of the unaware. She subconsciously twitched her mouth in irritation when she recalled all that had took place during breakfast. Ron always seemed to be able to get on her nerves with just the slightest bit of effort. She could not stand that boy's immature, rough and uncouth behavior sometimes, and wondered why she still put up with him. But it was not as if she could just avoid Ron without avoiding Harry, and they were the only true friends that she has, aside from Ginny, who unfortunately was Ronald's sister. So, the only way was to put up with him. Hermione let out a sigh.

Narrowly avoiding a cackling Peeves who was looking for his the next unfortunate victim for his dust balls, she turned into the corridor which led to the Transfiguration classroom. Her arms were straining under the weight of the many reference books she have borrowed for the subject and her left shoulder was hurting too as the strap of her Puma sling bag dug into it. Ron always reckoned that all the books the brunette has read could be used as weights in a gym. The corner of her mouth twitched once again in irritation and she quickened her footsteps, looking forward to free her arms of the burden.

Hermione leaned her right shoulder against the heavy wooden door gingerly and pushed it open with her weight. What greeted her sent confusion coursing through her brain. A pair of cerulean orbs glinted in the dimly lit room, and as Hermione pushed open the door wider, light spilled into the dim room and illuminated a figure with hair of the lightest silvery-blonde. Not unexpected, the bushy-hair brunette was the first student to arrive. But as she glanced around at the almost empty room, she could sense that something was amiss. Professor McGonagall was nowhere to be seen, and that surprised the teen. The strict Transfirguration Professor was always present whenever Hermione arrive, ready to answer any question and clear any doubts of hers before the lesson had even started.

But not today. What made Hermione confused was why Fleur Delacour was seated at the teacher's table. And the expression on the blonde's face was unreadable.

But Hermione struggled to keep a minimal amount of respect in her voice when she greeted the French intern, despite her strong dislike for the woman. Her voice was rather hard and cold though, and some sarcasm still managed to leak through into the words of the brunette.

"Good morning Professor."

A stiff nod; a strained smile, one that was obviously faked. With her mountain of books, Hermione strode to her usual seat, deliberately choosing the path that would not bring her close to the professor. She was secretly relieved to be free of the burden when she deposited the many books that she was cradling in her arms onto the table. The books plopped down onto the wooden table with a thud that resonated throughout the entire room, which seemed eerily empty with only the two present.

"Same to you, Ms Granger." Her tone was neutral. Fleur Delacour's eyes shone as her lips curled up into a small smile. Perhaps a smirk, the brunette thought snidely. Either she had not noticed the brunette's cold attitude towards her, or she could not be bothered to care. However, to the intern herself, only the latter was true. She was not so dense that she could not pick out the younger woman's hostility. She just chose to ignore. It was exactly the type of thing that Fleur Delacour would do. She would not condescend herself just to let the other woman have the satisfaction that she has affected the blonde in any way with her attitude.

Instead, Fleur chose indifference.

Noting the curiosity that the Granger girl was trying hard, but had apparently failed to hide, Fleur voiced out the question that Hermione had been bursting to ask at that moment for her.

"You must be wondering why Professor McGonagall is not here, _oui_?"

The brunette looked taken aback for a moment, but effectively wiped the shock off her face as fast as it had appeared and put on a nonchalant look. It was almost amusing to Fleur, who no doubt has effortlessly seen through the act that Hermione has been struggling to put up.

"Actually, yes. I was thinking about that."

"She is feeling a little under ze weather. Eet appears that she have caught a small cold. Nothing serious though. But I feel eet will still be better for her to take a day off and take care of her health. Zerefore, I will be taking over her lessons for today."

It came as a surprise to Hermione, the fact that Fleur actually have a _heart_, the ability to _show concern_ for others. The blonde had always appeared to be so full of herself, and seemed not to hold anyone in her eyes. Everything seemed to be just about her, her, her, and she seemed to care for nothing else except her very self.

Just _Fleur Delacour_.

But now, it seemed, to Hermione Granger, that the blonde was not as self-centered as she looked.

**

A chorus of voices and the shuffling sounds of feet filled the room as the rest of the students filed in amidst excited chatters. Chairs scrapped against the cold stone floor as they took their respective seats, and Fleur Delacour rested herself against the front of the teacher's table casually with her hands on either side of her, waiting for the students to settle down. Hermione, already scowling in her seat, was silent.

Just as the intern opened her mouth to speak, two frantic figures burst into the room, flustered and red-faced.

"Sorry Professor McGonagall! We were looking for Ron's Transfiguration book!"

The bespectacled teen panted and clutched at his sides, his round glasses almost falling off the bridge of his nose, and his hair more unruly than usual. Hastily, he shoved his specs up and kept his back bent and head bowed, one hand grasping his knee for support. The lanky red-head beside him was heaving hard and gasping for breath in audible huffs, nodding exhaustedly with as much strength as he could muster, and bent over so much that his nose was close to touching the grimy floor.

Both their heads remained bowed, awaiting the professor's stern voice to lash out at them.

None came though, except for a response of laughter that they never would have expected. Confused at the barrage of laughter from their classmates, they looked up, jumping back upon seeing the face of the part-Veela. Ron's mouth stretched into a wide and stupid grin and his eyes glazed over, while Harry just looked surprised with his mouth gaping. The class burst out into another fit of laughter as Professor Delacour merely smiled at them.

"It's alright. Please take your seat."

She motioned for them to settle down before walking to the front of the class, with her hair flowing behind her like the finest of all silk.

Hermione scowled deepened (if that was possible) when Fleur began to speak.

"Well class, I am sure you know who I am, so I shall skip ze introduction." The brunette twitched in her seat, irritated at how the woman said it in that casual, couldn't-be-bothered tone of hers.

"Professor McGonagall is not feeling very well today, zerefore, I will be taking over her lessons for today. Please open you Transfiguration textbooks to page 236, 'Ze Principles of Elemental Transfiguration, and let us begin our lesson."

Saying that Fleur knew nothing about the art of teaching would be very unfair to the blonde. Hermione realised that she really knew more than she had given the woman credit for. This realisation however, did not put Fleur in Hermione's better books than before. In fact, it made Hermione even more irritated with the part-Veela.

Hermione found it hard to believe that someone could be so _perfect._ Utterly, absolutely _perfect._ But yes, there was such a person, and that person was right in front of her eyes.

Fleur Delacour.

Even if Hermione have to inevitably accept the fact that there _is _perfection, or to be more exact, that Fleur_ is _perfection, she could not stand that woman's attitude. She hated her nonchalance, her indifference, her stoic, her imperturbability and her self-centeredness. All right, maybe minus _self-centeredness. _She hated her, for being so _phlegmatic. _Hermione wanted to see her shaken, emotions behind that pretty face, see her being affected, see a change in _that_ expression. She hated seeing _blatant apathy_ on the face of Fleur Delacour.

Hermione refused to accept that Fleur _is_ just that... _perfect, perfect, perfect_.

**

Reviews, reviews, reviews would be nice! Let me know how I can improve please! Thank you =)


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry for the period of hiatus. Schoolwork and co-curricular activity(especially so since I'm in sports) has been keeping me really busy, with the ever-accumulating tutorials and tests. It doesn't help matters that I don't really understand what's going on in the lectures = And neither does it when I keep falling ill ever since jc started. ZZZ.

Well, I don't want to rush into the story like how I had previously done (horrible mistake on my part), so please pardon me for all the suspense, haha.

And still looking for a beta=)

_**Chapter 3**_

**

Footsteps echoed loudly as the Golden Trio made their way back to the Gryffindor Tower after a nice, warm dinner, all three feeling very much drained from the long and exhausting day of lessons. Ron Weasley rubbed his stomach in contentment, well-satisfied after his meal, while Hermione, raising her eyebrows, shot a look at the glutton of a boy and shook her head. Ronald had practically inhaled every single dish in sight during their hour-long dinner, and the reason for the long duration of the dinner was _obviously _apparent. The brunette never knew where all the food consumed by Ron went, not that she really cared. It was just that she could not believe why he still remained thin and lanky despite his...well, _generous_ intake of food.

And when they were ascending the steps to the seventh-floor, Ron involuntarily let out a loud burp, thus (unfortunate for him) earning him a look of pure disgust from the girl. Harry, who was quite used to Ron's behaviour, merely laughed in amusement at the scene. Ron's face bore a look of sheepishness as he turned to face Hermione, with a large hand rubbing the red mop of hair on his head apologetically.

"Erm, sorry, 'mione. It was an accident. "

"Yes, I'm sure." Replying with a tone heavily dripping with sarcasm, Hermione continued striding up the steps with small, quick steps, not at all concerned in the least bit towards Ron's feeble attempt to apologise.

The flustered redheaded teen jogged up the stone steps a little behind her, though still quite effortlessly keeping up with her with his long, lanky legs. It bothered him a great deal that the girl was annoyed with him, and Ron berated himself mentally for getting onto her bad side once again. The last thing that he ever wanted to do was to make Hermione displeased, though it was not unusual for him to piss her off, whether he liked it or not.

This was the case for now. The boy was trying his best to resolve the small issue, which to Hermione, wasn't really that small at all.

"It was! I swear to Merlin that I didn't do it on purpose to piss you off!" Whether it was on purpose or not, it was still revolting and vulgar to Hermione, a girl brought up to be refined and well-mannered by her parents who placed high emphasis on proper demeanour and behaviours. Basic manners, or the lack of, and disgusting eating habits has always been one of her pet peeves.

Naturally, there was no response from Hermione, who stubbornly stuck her nose into the air and continued marching forward.

"Yea, well, you tried not to, at least." Harry commented casually. Ron made a face at him. It wasn't the best moment to tease the Weasley; he was obviously very distraught that Hermione had refused to acknowledge his apology. But even if Harry did sense how distraught the other boy was, he paid no attention to it.

Hermione silently thanked Harry for turning Ronald's attention away from her. Sometimes, Ronald could get...erhem, _really pesky_. The brunette could never stand anyone being so clingy and stubbornly persistent when their presence was quite obviously not very welcomed. Ironically, she was sometimes like that too, but she undoubtedly has no idea.

"I wasn't talking to you Harry."

"Oh really? Well, you are now."

"Okay, fine, you win."

"Don't I always?" Harry grinned. A discreet smile surfaced on Hermione's face without Ron's notice as she lead the way down the seventh-floor corridor, with the two males arguing a little way behind. Their heated conversation was indeed an amusing one, and she could not help but laugh in muted silence.

But no, that does not mean that Ron was completely forgiven. Unless he gets rid of his gross table manners and become more cultured and proper, he was _never_ going to be.

Hermione's ears perked suddenly. Somehow or other, the argument managed to shift its focus to a certain blonde, blue-eyed and gorgeous beauty and the brunette, to her own horror, found herself listening in to the conversation between the two boys with _much interest_.

"All right, you are better at Transfiguration. I can't get what McGonagall was saying the last lesson. But who cares?" Ron shrugged his rather broad shoulders. "And whoa, first Transfiguration lesson with Fleur today! She really knows her stuff! At least I catch what she was teaching." He grinned. "I wouldn't mind if McGonagall doesn't come back; I will be sure to ace Transfiguration with Fleur as the Professor!"

The candles lighting up the corridor casted flickering shadows as the three of them neared their destination. A shadow dawned upon the face of one dangerously, and it was not the effect of the flickering flames.

"Well, quite unlike you, I hope that Professor McGonagall recover and come back soon. It seems to me that your constant drooling over" She spat out, "_that Delacour woman" _and continued,_ "_has clouded your vision. She is still a more experienced teacher than _her_, who's only just a _mere_ three years older than us."

It peeved the girl off that Ron had not the slightest bit of respect or gratitude towards the Head of the Gryffindor House, who had taught them for the past four years. It didn't helped matters that the said Head was one of her favourite teachers. Ah, well, not like it was the first time he had pissed her off. Ronald seems to be constantly ruled by an animalistic side, and Hermione disliked that with a passion.

"But at least Fleur is much more better looking than McGonagall! Brains and beauty, she is bloody _perfect_! What do you think, Harry?"

Ah, there it was. The word that Hermione detest so much. She refused to believe that anyone could fit the definition of that word in its truest sense. Call her jealous, or say that she was just bitter that she was not as good-looking as _that Veela_, but she would just ignore you. That was exactly what she was, stubborn Ms Granger.

The mention of Fleur's name again ticked her off more, and she found herself getting annoyed with Ronald once again.

And when the person you were irritated with starts singing praises about the one who you hate, it only pisses you off even more, right?

In any case, Hermione fumed silently, and the tipping point came when she heard what Harry said next.

"Yea, she is definitely more attractive than McGonagall." _Not Harry too..._

Agreeing sheepishly to Ronald's comment, Harry grinned slightly to his red-headed companion, after which he quickly shot a look of uncertainty towards the brainiest of the three. Hermione did not turned her head, and instead chose to glare right ahead at nothing in particular. She could barely resist the urge to turn around and scream sense into the two boys, who were clearly drugged with the irresistible thrall of that part-Veela. _Such a cheat_, Hermione thought again in annoyance.

If not for her Veela blood, Hermione highly doubt that the woman would be able to capture the students' attention and conduct her lesson as effortlessly as she did.

"See, 'mione? Don't you think so too?" Ronald bounced up to Hermione, who had stopped in her tracks. He was brimming with confidence, his chest puffed up proudly, enthusiastically wanting to prove to Hermione that his point was not at all wrong. However, if he had thought that Hermione would good-naturedly agreed that he was right, then he was drastically wrong.

And wrong he really was as he recoiled under the brunette's fiery retort.

"What good is beauty when she's so stuck up and proud? She doesn't give a damn about others at all! I'd bet there's not a single thing in this world that matter to her at all, except herself and her alone! She may seem to be _purrfect_," (deliberately dragging that word out in an exaggerated French accent) "but she isn't. There's no true definition of the word and there never will be, especially not so in her!"

Whipping her head around, she pivoted sharply and stomped off, living in her wake a stunned Ron who stared, with eyes filled with confusion, after her, and a surprised and stunned Harry.

"Blimey, what's wrong with her? Why did she get so worked up? It's only Fleur we were talking about!" Still in the state of shock, he remained unmoving. The slammed of the portrait hole round the corner mocked the two stunned boys.

"I dunno." Not being able to form a logical explanation in his mind, Harry merely gave a shrug.

They regained the use of their limbs after their moment of shock, and started moving towards the Fat Lady's portrait just round the corner, while busy discussing and musing the reasons behind Hermione's aggressive reaction. It was Ron who thought of the first possible and surprisingly logical explanation to the incident.

"Hey mate, you think that maybe she's just jealous of Fleur?"

"Yea, maybe. It seems logical."

The boys continued the rest of the way in silence. Ron was feeling helpless and at a loss of what to do. He had never pissed the brunette off so many times in just one day before. Today really set the record.

A mere half-minute later, they reached the portrait of a plump lady decked in a long, frilly, pink frock, who was looking distinctively frizzled. Harry and Ronald exchanged unsure glances.

"Ah-ha! Another two! Came to slam my portrait again? I have had quite a shock not more than a minute ago! What's with rude and self-centred students nowadays, venting their anger on us poor portraits and not showing respect for us? I could feel my brains rattle with that violent vibration caused by that unwelcomed treatment. And look at how ruffled my dress is! This is certainly most unbecoming of the behaviour of Gryffindor students! In the past –"

Ron looked especially guilty, while Harry tried to reassure the agitated lady as best as he could.

"Erm, no, we're not here to slam your portrait."

"You better not be. One more time and I shall march straight up to the Headmaster's office to lodge a complaint! I'm sure he'll have lots to say regarding this matter. He'll be quite surprised to find out what rude students we have here in Hogwarts! Disappointed too, I'm sure! But he'll definitely do something about –"

"Well, yes, I'm sure Professor Dumbledore would do something about the matter. In the meantime, may we enter?"

"He'd better. After my years of dedicated service to Hogwarts I expect more respect than slamming and glaring. Password?" The Fat Lady asked quite grudgingly, before muttering a string of incoherent words under her breath that sounded suspiciously like "lack of respect" and "inhuman treatment".

Rolling his eyes, Ron said, perhaps a tat bit too loudly, "Stunning beauty." That was all it took for the Fat Lady to have a hundred-and-eighty degrees change in her mood. She exclaimed quite dramatically.

"Oh, how surprisingly sweet you are, young man! And here I was thinking; what has gone wrong in the young people nowadays! There really wasn't a need for you to declare it so loudly to the world though," she pretended to blush, "Such a nice young man you are! You do know how to appreciate beauty after all!"

The Fat Lady looked at Ron with a delighted expression, her hand half-covering her mouth which was opened in what they assumed was mock surprise, before swinging open happily to allow the two boys, who were still trying to recover after the unexpected shift in the Fat Lady's mood, entry into the Gryffindor Common Room. All thoughts about Hermione slamming her portrait and complaining to Dumbledore about disrespectful students seemed to have vanished instantly.

Offended at the words of the plump lady, Ronald's face darkened.

"Yea right. I wonder why she always comes up with such self-flattering passwords. Stunning is right; the effects of just looking at her alone can rival the effects of a Stunning spell. Crazy old bat."

An irate Ron muttered before clambering through the hole, as Harry struggled to stifle his laughter and keep a straight face.

Just after they crawled through the Portrait hole, with Ron still mumbling darkly under his breath, Jimmy Peakes, one of the new Gryffindor beaters, approached them.

"Hi guys! Harry, Professor Dumbledore asked me to pass this to you."

He handed a rolled-up piece of parchment, which was tightly sealed, to the boy, who accepted it readily, already knowing what the message would be about.

"Thanks. Remember that there's Quidditch practice the day after tomorrow. Pass the message along to Coote too."

Harry unsealed the parchment, trying his best not to just rip it open in his eagerness.

"Alright, got it! Cya around, good night!"

The beater then headed towards the staircase leading to the boys' dormitories.

Unrolling the piece of parchment, Harry's eyes roved rapidly over the few words written in Dumbledore's cursive handwriting. The teenage wizard whispered to his redheaded companion as they headed towards the comfy armchairs beside the fireplace.

"Dumbledore wants the first lesson to be tomorrow night, 8pm."

"Great! 'Mione would love to hear about this," Ron glanced around the common room, but there was not a single sign of the brainy witch.

Harry caught the look of disappointment on his face. "Don't worry, I'm sure she'll be over it tomorrow."

Nodding slightly, the other boy allowed his eyes to dart towards the gloomy staircase leading up to the girls' dormitory.

Up the stairs, behind a certain wooden door, Hermione Granger jumped onto her four-poster bed and buried her head into her pillow in frustration. Frustration not because of the topic, nor because of the subject, neither because of Ron. But with how much she had secretly agreed with his second last comment.

Cliché as it sounded, a hundred, a million things ran through her mind as she lay there in the dark. It was almost suffocating and taunting, as the darkness seems to tease and mock at her.

Fleur Delacour invaded her mind.

Guilt actually washed over her. It accompanied Fleur, together with a whole torrent of other feelings. She knew, Hermione knew that she had not exactly been the friendliest person to the Frenchwoman during the past few days. A sigh was lost in her pillow.

Hermione is a stubborn, straightforward woman; too put it not-so-nicely, she is blunt, and insensitive. She has a tendency to let her thoughts take control over her expressions and it was not surprising to her if she always greeted Fleur Delacour with a scowl or a glare, seeing that Hermione have always thought negatively of her.

Well, that is, until today, when she had proven all her presumptions wrong. Fleur _is _indeed _perfect_, whether Hermione wanted to believe it or not. But the girl, or woman, just could not bring herself to accept it.

She let out another involuntary sigh, flipping herself onto her back as she watched the shadows on the ceiling. She would not be surprised if the Delacour woman reciprocated her hatred, she told herself, seeing how horrible she have been acting towards the woman.

But to the shock of the young witch, the other woman did not. At least not openly, she didn't. She treaded carefully around the thin ice surrounding the brunette, and treated her with neutrality, and...was it respect? Hermione could not bring herself to think of it. It made her think of Fleur as the better woman, the one who was more mature, the one who could not be bothered to let a young girl's (Hermione thought bitterly) resentment and hatred ruffle her silvery-blonde hair.

With all the surprises today, not one beat how much the brunette surprised herself now. Since when have she grown to be so sensitive to her feelings? Or to be more precise, since when have she really been sensitive to the feelings of others? And now, here she lay, wondering in much frustration what Fleur Delacour's real impression of her was, and wondering whether her insensitivity towards the blonde has affected her in any way.

_Probably not at all_, she thought again bitterly, seeing that Fleur has already dealt with so many jealous women in her life, she would probably have brushed the brunette off as yet another jealous, petty girl.

But why does her heart clench upon thinking of this? Why does it hurt so much just thinking whether Fleur really thinks of her that way?

WHY does it pain her to be that insignificant in the beautiful blue eyes, like the rest of the jealous, petty females?

She was confused; her thoughts in a complicated jumble. Hermione could not see why a mere woman, or part-Veela, was able to affect her so much in such a way. And she hated the blonde for being able to do so.

Her glare shifted over to the small window, where the silvery fingers of moonlight crept into the room. She could not even remember when that offending expression had come to be on her face.

However, the soft rays of light soften the hard gaze. Hermione felt at peace all of a sudden. The silvery rays reminded her of...silvery-blonde hair!? With a bolt, Hermione Granger shot up unexpectedly.

This time round, it was not her trademark scowl that had found its way to her face. It was a look of horror as sudden realization struck her.

She had been so dense and obsessed with her intense hatred towards the Frenchwoman that it had grown to be a passion. However ridiculous it sound, the actual fact was that she had unknowingly came to accept the woman into her life. As an excuse, as her object of hatred, as a channel for all her frustrations.

Fleur had, unknowingly and involuntarily, found her way to the brunette's heart. She has stepped into the chambers, giving her heart another reason to beat. She has pulled at Hermione's heartstrings, causing her heart to ache.

For the enigma that _is_ Fleur Delacour.

******


	4. Chapter 4

**A.N: THis is more or less a linking chapter, so I apologise for the lack of Fleur/ Hermione interaction. More to come!**

**Chapter 4**

Transfiguration lesson the next day was no different. Much to the delight of a certain Ron Weasley, Fleur Delacour once again stood by the teacher's table, welcoming the students with the same, familiar, simper on her face. The very same one that Hermione used to hate with all her guts. Yes, used to. But now? Hermione was unsure of what she was feeling.

The intern was wearing the same, boring, plain black robes that the other professors often donned; save for the stupid, black pointed hat which she has fashionably chose to leave out. Hermione could not understand why and how she could manage to carry off the entire look so vastly differently. The dull robe accentuated her perfect figure, clinging to her curves almost sinfully, giving her an air of elegance. It seemed to make her skin emanate a soft, silvery glow, bringing out the contrast between skin and robe. Golden hues of the Sun's morning rays filtered through the numerous windows along the walls, illuminating her silky, flowing hair of silvery-blonde, and adding a touch of iridescence to her eyes of blue. Hermione cringed as she thought of yesterday.

The students entered the room just like they have always done, and took their respective seats in chatters and excited voices. The famous Trio strutted to the front and took their places at the front of the classroom, led by an excited Ron who practically skipped his way to the seat, though almost tripping a few times over his own elephantine feet.

Being in such close vicinity of the Veela, Hermione Granger's heart leaped just as a wave of ambivalence engulfed her. Her body tensed, and she felt...feelings that she had never felt before, not in her seventeen years of life. She tried to put a name to these feelings, but she could not, and that irritated the girl. She slammed her armful of books onto the desk, making such a commotion that everyone turned to look her way

"Anything wrong, Ms Granger?"

Hermione silently cursed herself when the Frenchwoman walked to her side, _perfectly_ poised.

"Hmm?"

Hermione averted her eyes away from the woman, trying hard not to think about how sexy Fleur looked with her head slightly tilted to the side in a questioning manner. She jerked her head violently to show that nothing was wrong, but she wasn't sure whether Fleur understood her.

But Fleur did. But not in the way that Hermione had really meant. Being an intuitive woman, and with Veela blood flowing in her veins, she knew that Hermione did not feel comfortable around her, not at all. From the first few days back, she picked up signs of the brunette's hostility towards her, though why, she still did not know for sure, but she assumed that it was just her blood heritage.

And now, Fleur thought that Hermione was just annoyed with her, or maybe jealous? It didn't make much of a difference, not to Fleur anyway. For she just could not be bothered to care.

Giving a curt nod to no one in particular, the action probably was just an acknowledgement to herself, the blonde moved away from the brunette and floated to the front of the class.

Hermione, on the other hand, knew the reason. Of course she does. But she was afraid to face it. She would rather choose to be in denial, then to accept the truth head on in this complicated case. She was pretty much annoyed with herself when Fleur walked away. It would not do for Fleur to find out how she really feels; she would only laugh at her and mock her for being a naive little girl. Her expression hardened at the thought, and she frowned at her desk in annoyance. And then Hermione decided to busy and distract herself with her notes during the lesson so as not to risk giving her feelings away, the feelings that she should not be having in the first place.

After the last sounds have died down, Fleur Delacour addressed the class in that irresistibly smooth voice of hers, which sent shivers down Hermione's spine. Hermione visibly shuddered, and the action was not missed by the sharp eyes of Fleur Delacour, who brushed it off as another sign of irritation of the brunette.

"_Bonjour_ class. You must be surprise to see me here again today, _non_? Unfortunately, Professor McGonagall's cold from yesterday has worsened, and she has temporarily lost her voice. While she recuperates and regain her health, I will take over her lessons. So I guess zat means zat I will most probably be seeing you for ze rest of ze week."

Whoops and cheers from the boys interrupted her words, while the girls merely rolled their eyes, all except for one. Hermione Granger stared hard at her Transfiguration textbook, as though expecting it to jump up and perform a series of complicated cartwheels. Her face was void of expressions, but a million thoughts ran through her head. But this time, she was not going to let her thoughts take control of her expressions, no, in fact, not anymore.

******

Teaching, like any other thing, was not a problem for the smart and capable Delacour. Nevertheless, Fleur was thankful that the class has been very cooperative with her in lessons. Well, largely thankful. Aside from a bunch of infuriating Slytherins whom she have to constantly dish out detentions to, the rest were pretty much well behaved. That however, could not make her disagree that some of the students' behaviour do irked her quite a lot; like that particular Draco Malfoy, who had tried to flirt with her during lessons. It took every ounce of self-control in the intern not to punch that little prick and put him in his rightful place, though she did gave him a well-deserved detention with Argus Filch for his insolence. Hopefully, the Slytherin boy would know better in future not to mess with _Fleur Delacour_.

Another thing, which the Frenchwoman had found disturbing, was Ronald Weasley constant staring at her in a disgusting, sappy fashion, topped with a dreamy look in his eye, as if she were some tasty-looking morsel of food. There was no need to mention how much he drooled either. She was greatly turned off by his drooling and perverse staring, but there was nothing much she could do about it.

_At least_, Fleur thought, _he was still in the condition to jot down the occasional notes that I wrote on the board._

It was not that Fleur was not glad and flattered to have him, and the rest of the class (save for a certain brunette), giving her their fullest attention, but it was just that she could get uneasy and uncomfortable to have them keeping track of her each and every move too. She hated it because it gave her the feeling that she was under surveillance, without any freedom to do what she want to without people knowing.

It may seemed incredibly shocking that a part-Veela like Fleur Delacour was still not used to gawking men or women, but that, unfortunately, was the sad truth. Fleur heaved a sigh. Part of the reason why she hate all the attention was also because she was afraid to be caught in embarrassing situations. How would you like having tons of people staring at you all the time? What if she fell down on her nose or bang into a wall? It would not take long for thousands of people would know about it. The embarrassment that she would have to face if that happens was too much for her to bear, that she could not even stand thinking about it.

Okay, enough mention of the sensitive stuffs.

Going about the lesson, Fleur could not help but noticed that a particular student seemed to be paying less attention to her than she desired. What she totally did not expect was that the student was Hermione Granger though. Hermione seemed, to Fleur, to be a little off that day; like there was something bothering her.

Not once has the brainy witch volunteered an answer to a question or even asked any. Neither once has her well-timed hand shot through the air before the others, or even after. It seemed to Fleur that her Transfiguration textbook was much more interesting Fleur was; an unexpected change for once. Hermione was staring so hard at it that she could have burn a hole in it with her glare. Fleur could not think of any other reason for Hermione's weird behaviour towards her. The girl had not glanced at Fleur (surprisingly) even once ever since she had entered the room. Maybe she did, but most certainly, Fleur did not notice.

During the entire period, the brunette just sat there and furiously scribbled down notes. This was the first time that she has not treated the intern with blatant hostility too. In fact, she seems to be totally ignoring any eye contact with her, let alone a glare or a single scowl. Things were indeed queer, especially to the intern, who was very much confused by the young woman's inconsistent behaviour.

Fleur highly doubt that it was any fault on her part which caused Hermione to behave this way. They were never on talking terms, and it was not as if they were very close in the first place. Fleur could not understand why she even care so much about the girl in the first place; it was not as if she really mattered to Fleur that much. She was just another student of mine, no doubt a very gifted one. Her level of intelligence was something Fleur could never disagree with.

Though sometimes Fleur do get rather irritated with Hermione for being such a know-it-all. She never knew whether Hermione's passion for answering questions was just that, a passion, or whether it was more than that. Could she be trying to flaunt her intelligence? Maybe.

However, she was oddly reserved and silent in Fleur's lesson.

Fleur put it off as anger and irritation on Hermione's part. Guessing that she was overly concerned of how Hermione has been reacting towards her, she decided not to care so much anymore. What was the point of putting herself at the receiving end of the brunette's fury? Her cold and harsh attitude could really hurt.

Though she has decided not to care anymore, some part of her still cling on to thoughts of the brunette, refusing to let go. It was then Fleur started to question her confused self. Why was she so bothered about that brunette and her response towards her, that she let it affect herself so much? Why does this particular girl, or young woman, have such an influence over her? Shouldn't she be used to the hostile and jealous treatment of the females as a whole?

Growing up as a part-Veela, Fleur had to learn to live with many things, no matter how much she disliked doing so. Stares from the male population (sometimes even from the females) was normal, and Fleur has learnt to live with it, regardless of how much she hated it. Jealous vibes from the females was no unusual phenomenon either, and Fleur has learnt to ignore them. _Gotten used_ to all these do not mean that she felt totally comfortable with it (no one in their right mind would be). It just meant that she have reached the stage whereby she could tune them all out, and ignore all of these, which always tend to make her uncomfortable.

Because of that, Fleur would not be surprised if she was thought to be a stuck up or arrogant, rich brat, because she just could not be bothered to deal with the jealousy of others. Let them think what they want; Fleur Delacour has no heart to care. She would never condescend herself in the hope of getting others to accept her, or to bring herself down to their level just to accommodate them, for that's simply just not her.

She would give anything to bet that Hermione was just jealous of her blood heritage, or to be more exact, herr jealousy was caused by Fleur's thrall, and that was where the problem lies. But since there was no way to rein in the Veela's thrall completely, it would not be Fleur's problem. It would be Hermione problem, and she would just have to learn to accept the thrall. Fleur have never worried her brain cells over the other petty females; she does not see any need to do so. So why should the brunette be any different?

**

[in the evening]

"Acid Pops."

The stone gargoyle flanking the entrance to the Headmaster's office moved aside upon registering the password, though not before casting a look of suspicion on the student. The movement from the gargoyle and the wall behind it revealed a majestic moving spiral staircase, which would indeed be quite an amazing sight to a Muggle's eye. Harry Potter stepped onto the staircase with practiced ease, and the staircase began to move instantly.

"Come in." Dumbledore's calm voice ricocheted off the walls of his circular office as Harry knocked twice on the wooden door. Pushing the door open gently, the teen stepped into the office and greeted the elderly professor.

"Good evening, Professor Dumbledore."

"Ah, yes, it has been a rather pleasant evening so far. Let's begin, shall we? Please take a seat."

Fawkes the phoenix let out a squawk as Dumbledore gestured to the seat in front of his desk. Resting upon his desk was what Harry had first assumed to be a huge stone basin, when he did not have the slightest inkling on its uses. Feeling uneasy, he remembered his previous trip (without permission, of course) into the basin and its strange swirling contents. Snape had been so upset and angered that he refused to continue the Occlumency lessons for Harry.

"If I am not wrong, bless me if I am, but I am sure that you know what this is?"

Dumbledore queried, his right hand holding down the half-mooned spectacles, which rested low on the bridge of his nose, allowing his eyes to peer over the top.

"A pensive, sir?"

A small, warm smile stretched itself slowly across his face, lined with signs of age. His eyes twinkled, synchronous with the smile that lit up his face.

"Indeed. And it is this pensive that shall help us along in the lessons to come."

_******_


	5. Chapter 5

_A.N: AH, it's been long since I last updated. Haha. Well, I'll try to update more frequently now=)_

_Read and review!_

**Chapter 5**

Under silky black robes, black boots clacked resoundingly with each step of Fleur Delacour as she strut back toward her room after an extremely light dinner in the Great Hall. Several days have passed since Fleur stepped foot into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as the new Transfiguration intern, but she still has yet to get use to the strange English food. She greatly missed the food back at home, missed her mother's healthy meals, and missed the snacks that she and her little sister Gabrielle used to munch on while giggling away about little secrets. Of course, the food served at Hogwarts were rich, but not _rich _to her liking. They were rich with oil, fat and calories; and Fleur highly doubted her delicate stomach would be able to handle it. But, thank goodness for her that her beloved sister constantly sent over occasional packages of food from Beauxbatons; and her caring mother too, sent over light, homemade snacks that made her miss home even more.

Frequent drafts of cold air whispered through the dimly lit corridors, and Fleur wrapped her silky cloak tighter around her slender frame. But the cloak could not block out the chills Fleur felt when she saw ghosts flitting through the walls detachedly. The young woman was not used to the presence of ghosts, for there weren't any resident ghosts in her old school, and it could be quite a scare for the blonde to see a figure emerging from a solid, stone wall without any warning.

Hogwarts was nothing like what she was used too; it was too cold, too dark, too drafty, too eerie, too old, too grimy and too...English. Even though she had been there for almost one whole year in her seventh year in Beauxbatons, she still had not adapted well to the change in the environment. Ah yes, Fleur never liked being uprooted from her comfort zone and placed into some place unfamiliar; but there was nothing much she could do but to try and adapt.

Out of the blue, following a 'whoosh' of cold air, a box of chalk dropped painfully onto Fleur's head The alarmed lady whipped her head upwards to glare at the source of delighted cackling above her as a white curtain of powdered chalk enshrouded her. The cackling was irritatingly familiar to her ears, and though she could not clearly see the culprit through the white cloud, the answer was still quite obvious to her. Homesickness, the foreign environment and the lack of company had already made Fleur rather grouchy, though she did not show it.

But pranks?

They were the last straw.

Anger built inside the Veela, and she shook her fists violently at the culprit; her eyes were flashing furiously.

"Peeves!"

Fleur was fuming. Covered with powdered chalk from head to toe was not something that the woman, who did care about her appearance, appreciated. Well, if she had been calmer, she would have noticed the resemblance between her and a ghostly figure, except that she wasn't the least bit translucent at all, and that do not have the ability to float through walls as a mean of moving around. Of course, even if Fleur had noticed, she would not have caught the humour in the situation. The chalk box dropped onto the stone floor with a resounding thud in the pool of white powder at the feet of the blonde just as she lifted her powdered head to scream at the poltergeist.

"Stop this at once or I will report you!"

A deadly stare was what she gave the poltergeist, though he did not appear to be affected by it. It was probably due to the fact that the poltergeist, being one, obviously was not humanely alive to be affected by it. The ghost merely cackled louder, angering Fleur even more, before he swoop down and whack the furious Frenchwoman on the head with a walking stick he was swinging around, which Fleur highly suspected belonged to Professor McGonagall. After doing a tap dance in mid-air with the walking stick (which highly annoyed Fleur), Peeves made a face and floated off to look for his next unsuspecting victim, cackling loudly.

"_Merde." _

Fleur mumbled and cursed silently under her breath in French, which was not something that she often did; at least not in front of others. But then again, she was alone in the corridor, so it was not that unusual after all. She trudged angrily towards her room, mood fouled by the annoying school pest. It just took a stupid poltergeist to ruin her mood for the night. Fleur tried, but could not find a suitable verb to describe that poltergeist. Stupid was merely an understatement. But she eventually calmed herself down with millions of thoughts on things that she would not mind doing to the poltergeist when she get her hands on him (if that was possible).

Fleur stomped into her room agitatedly and immediately headed for the bathroom. She had managed to siphon off some of the powder using magic while she was on her way back, but most remained, much to her irritation and discomfort. It did not help matters when two first-year girls almost tore her eardrums with their screams upon seeing her while she was making her way back. They had apparently thought that the powdered woman was an Inferius or something evil and Dark. Already feeling extremely crappy and irritated at the state she was in, not to mention her woes and the horrid Peeves, the intern had shot them fierce glares before stomping away angrily, leaving behind a trace of white powder. Filch would be pissed, but Fleur does not give a damn.

The dusty, chalky smell was starting to bother her, and her nose twitched in protest. Fleur thought sarcastically about what would happen if her windpipe got blocked up with the dusty, stinky powder.

She found it morbidly interesting. It was as though she have discovered another alternative way to die. The blonde pictured the headlines on The Daily Prophet if that really happen: "Transfiguration intern at Hogwarts choke to death on chalk powder".

_How very exciting._

After a refreshing shower to rinse off the grime and dirt on her, Fleur carefully dried herself off while mulling over several things, before putting on a bathrobe. Emerging from the bathroom, drying her hair, her gaze fell upon the ornately-framed picture of her grandmother hanging on the midnight blue wall opposite of her king-size bed. Her train of thought then drove toward her grandmother, a pure-blooded Veela.

Fleur missed her family, but she never admitted it to anyone, not even Dumbledore. Of course, even though she did not say anything, Dumbledore would still be smart enough to guess. Fleur may looked to be a very independent person, but then again, looks can never account for everything. But Fleur never liked to reveal her weaknesses. It was as though she was afraid that they would be used against her.

And that was why she did not admit the loneliness she was feeling. Yes, Fleur do get lonely at times (most), though she always seemed to have people around her. In actual fact, their presence only amplify her loneliness; making her feel even more alone than she actually was. She was a hermit in a foreign country, with no friends, no family, no one to lean on when she need support, no one to turn to when she need a listening ear. Although it was not the first time she had been away from home, it was the first time she was away from home _alone. All alone. _She had Gabrielle with her during her seventh year, the Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts. She had her family with her when they had gone on vacations during winter breaks. But she has no one with her on her internship at Hogwarts.

Fleur thought of her family (like how she does every single day), and their little quirks and habits. Even her nag of a grandmother seemed really endearing then. Fleur respected her grandmother a great deal, but had always found the constant nagging hard to face.

But now, she even missed her grandmother's incessant fussing over her. A reminiscing smile appeared on Fleur's face, more for herself than for anything else, as she remember the old times.

It was then she suddenly remembered the words which her grandmother had always drilled into her at every opportune she got.

"…_the Veela's soulmate is the one who can see pass the exterior and to the beauty within, who can resist the thrall and retain their rationality and true self in all the beauty of the Veela..." _

Fleur could not help but let a small smile surface on her tired face; it would be nice if she could find her soulmate in Britain. Then, she would no longer be alone in the strange land anymore. She could even grow to _love _the English customs if that happened. Then, Fleur rolled her eyes. It seemed to be something extremely ludicrous and impossible to her.

Find a soulmate in a land she _so _dislike? She would have better luck by dating a troll; in her _next life,_ she thought sarcastically.

It was not until then did the echo of the old lady's words struck a deep chord in the young woman. Fleur was, once again, heavily struck with the reminder that she has yet to find her soulmate, find the one who could love her truly for who and what she was. Her grandmother has been bugging her every time she visited, enquiring endlessly about her non-existent love life. Once, Fleur was so greatly annoyed by it that she even contemplated paying a man to pass off as her partner, but decided against it in the end thanks to her better judgement.

Eventually, it had gotten to the point where Fleur herself started to get desperate, anxious to find someone who would be able to fill the void in her heart. She dated Bill Weasley about a year back, but in the end broke up with him the minute she realised that it was her thrall that had drawn him to her, which was the last thing she ever wanted to happen in a relationship. It would be like feeding him love potion constantly; like going out with an Inferius. Though his body and his mind would be with her, his heart would never be.

Aside from that brief courtship, Fleur's love life was close to none. She was starting to doubt that there would be someone out there who would be waiting for her.

Well, then Fleur could not see the point of her having good looks when she would still end up a lonely old woman. If only Hermione Granger knew. Then perhaps, she would not be so jealous of the intern, and they could probably even be_ friends._

The blonde's train of thought was diverted to the direction of Hermione Granger; just as she was starting to feel rather desolate and forlorn. Then, something fell into place.

Something she had failed to notice all along.

Something that she should have realised, should have noted, should have recognised earlier.

All her life, Fleur has never met anyone who was able to resist the Veela in her. Men had lusted and drooled over me. Even other women lost their character when being around me, thanks to their jealousy. Until Hermione Granger came along. Hermione was the only one who could still think _straight_, retained her stubborn personality in the presence of Fleur, and resist her thrall.

Why, why had Fleur not realised that earlier?

That...that...

That Hermione Granger was the one for her.

Fleur was far from calm; she was in a state of shock. Never in her entire nineteen years of life did she expect that her other half would be someone younger than her, let alone a female. Her grandmother did told her that it was not an uncommon occurrence, and that she should not be so close-minded as to think that her soul mate would fit into the convention; so it should not have came to her as such a surprise. But nevertheless, it did. Especially when the other person treats her as their worst enemy.

Veela bonds are complicated; that Fleur had been told. What with all the blood bonds, soul bonds; the intricacies of the bond between the Veela and her soul mate have eluded the wizarding world ever since the very beginning of time. The only ones who ever understood how the bonds work were the Veelas themselves; and this knowledge was passed down from generations to generations of Veelas.

In history, there have been many heterosexual and homosexual Veela bonds. The Veelas were not as close-minded as humans were. Thus, it was not unnatural to discover that one's destined lifetime mate belonged to the same gender. That was what Fleur was told by her grandmother. So having a female mate was not that shocking a fact to Fleur as it should have been.

But how was the part-Veela supposed to win the brunette over when she was so obviously a thorn in her eyes?


	6. Chapter 6

_A.N: It has been ages since I last update this story! Encountered a bit of writer's block for this story; inspiration vanished all of a sudden-.- Hence, shorter chapter than usual. But hopefully, you guys will still enjoy it._

**Chapter 6**

A slight groan, a creak, and a shaft of light. The portrait hole slowly rotated about its hinges, and a dark figure entered the circular room, framed by the light coming from the corridor. THe fire burned low and dim in the room.

"Harry, you are back!"

Hermione half rose from the armchair beside the fireplace in the Gryffindor Common Room, her head turned towards the Portrait hole, where Harry had just emerged. It was late, about ten plus, and most of the students had already went to bed after an exhausting day. The weak flame flickered and sparked, with pieces of firewood glowing red.

"Yeah."

Sinking onto the couch, Harry Potter took a moment to collect his thoughts, his whole body slumped back, with his arms outspread and eyes closed. The brunette took a sympathetic look at her weary friend and closed the book which she was reading just a moment before, deciding to let him have a little moment before asking him-

"How did the lesson went? Did Dumbledore teach you how to duel? Or did he show you the secret weapon? "

-about the lesson. Alas, someone else got there before her.

With anticipation gleaming in his eyes, the tallest of the Trio asked eagerly in a hushed whisper. Ronald Weasley's voice was deep and filled with excitement, a complete contrast to how he was just minutes before Harry entered. The juxtaposition alone was almost amusing. Though his brunette friend was not really very amused at his insensitiveness.

Snapping out of his thoughts (and his short-lived rest), Harry sat up and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His slender, callused fingers wrapped around each other as he placed his hands together in front of him. Taking a deep breath, Harry readied himself, before launching into a detailed explanation on everything that he had seen through the Pensive.

Wide-eyed, the other two listened on in awe. Even Hermione forgot about her irritation towards Ron.

"…That's about it. And he said that it is important that we keep all this between ourselves, yea, so don't go about blabbing it to anyone else. Especially you, Ron." He shot a sharp look at the red-head, who then rubbed his mop of hair with his large hands sheepishly with a grin.

"Don't worry about it mate, my lips are sealed."

With the exaggerated motion of zipping up his lips, the other boy put on a serious look before his brows knitted together in confusion.

" But why is it so important for you to know You-Know-Who's past? Has it got anything to do with the prophecy at all?"

"That's what I asked too. Dumbledore said it is very important, and claimed that everything about the lesson has something to do with the prophecy."

Falling into five seconds of silence, Harry mulled over his thoughts. The prophecy, the one that dictate the life and death of Harry Potter; his fate. Either he would survive, or Voldemort would reign. That was the crude choice. Or was it even a choice?

It was _never_ a choice.

"But I have the feeling that Dumbledore have not told me everything about the prophecy yet."

Sighing, he shut his eyes and dipped his head.

Silence took over as the three immersed themselves in their own thoughts, each thinking hard. Finally, Hermione spoke up.

"Don't think too much about it, Harry. I am sure that Dumbledore will let you know when the time comes."

Her dark chocolate-brown eyes, though filled with worry, bore a hint of assurance and confidence.

"Yea. Hopefully." Harry replied silently.

The fire has long reduced itself to burning embers, which smouldered and crackled weakly in the dark Common Room. Silence embraced the room. The last three occupants of the room rose and each went back their respective dorms, as the last embers began to die.

They were not the only ones who were worried for Harry and his fate. At the other side of the old castle, a thin, lanky man peered deeply into the glowing fire of the old fireplace. Albus Dumbledore.

Albus took off the half-mooned spectacles that he had always donned, and cleaned it absent-mindedly on his robe as he strode towards Fawkes. The phoenix tilted his head softly to one side in a questioning manner as his master reached towards him with an old, wrinkled hand. Upon feeling the hand on his tail, he puffed his body up and shook out his full plumage, a harmony of flaming red and orange.

"Ah...you never knew, did you? When Olivander asked me for a feather from your tail; did you know about the prophecy? Was that why you had given two..?"

Fawkes continued gazing softly into the old man's eyes.

Albus smiled to no one in particular, a smile that never reached his eyes. Was it really wise for him to reveal so much to the boy when his mind was still very much vulnerable to Voldemort's intrusions? Grief has the power to keep him out, but for how long does it have the power to do so? The boy has dealt with so much, so much ever since he was born into this world. Was he really _born_ to _borne_?

What if he failed to keep the Dark Lord out of his mind? If Tom Riddle gained knowledge of the lessons, he may tighten his protection on the other hidden parts of his soul. And if that do happen, then all efforts would go to waste. Albus was worried, like how he was always worried. Harry was like a son to him, the son that he never had, the son that he _would never_ have. Was he, Albus Dumbledore, putting Harry Potter in a position of danger?

Was he deciding his fate for him?

Albus needed assurance; he needed _someone, someone _to tell him that he was doing the right thing, to assure him that he was not forcing his intentions upon the young child. To him, Harry would forever be a child, his memory of Harry, would forever be frozen at the time when he left him at the Dursleys'.

And he must soon change his view of Harry.

Albus knew; he knew that the day would come. But he never expected it to come so quickly. Harry would have to face the most notorious Dark Wizard of the time, and...

...and he would have three others to help him along the way.

But would they be ready for it? For the news, even?

Settling down into his chair, Albus's eyes misted over. All the unanswered questions raged in his mind, and he himself would have to seek for the answers himself. Everything was like a huge, _magical_ jigsaw puzzle that he has to piece together; the only thing preventing him from doing so was the pieces constantly shifting around, unwilling to stay in place.

And the only thing that he could do was to arrange them in their proper places, and hope that they stay that way; arrange for the circumstances, and hope that they proceed as planned.

But for now, what should be done was already done. Since everything have been positioned at the starting point, what was left to do, or the only thing that could be done, was to carry on with the plan. Anyway, it was the Order's best plan thus far, after all. Having gone through so much, Harry should be strong enough to block out Tom Riddle.

That was what Albus Dumbledore hoped for. An old man does over-analyze things sometimes. Just then, a voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Are you serious in letting the boy find out so much, Albus?"

Not turning towards the portrait, as though unable to say the truth if he do so, Albus opened his mouth to answer, but stopped.

He paused for a moment, as though he was contemplating something, before answering in a raised voice.

"I am, Phineas. Rest assure that I do know what I am doing."

The portrait fell silent.

Under the flickering light emanating from the fireplace, the man took out a small, black metal case the size of his palm, gaining a slight sense of assurance from its weight. Running his aged hand over the black box, the cold, thick metal greeted his touch sinisterly. After unlocking the several silver buckles over it that was criss-crossed into an intricate design with a special incantation, Albus Dumbledore slowly lifted its lid.

A circular gold band with an ugly black stone rested in the confines of the box, no different from the one which Gaunt had waved in front of Ogden's face a while ago in the Pensive. It appeared to be nothing impressive, merely an old ring that had went through the trials of time. But the dark aura it exuded hinted differently.

Cautiously, quietly, Albus studied the seemingly useless and ingenuous object; thinking of all that he had went through just to acquire that. Even the powerful wizard, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, could not help but fear the power and darkness he knew lay craftily hidden within, so much so that he tried not to touch it if possible. He hoped; and he pray, for nothing more but to see the evil object rendered useless and powerless to serve its purpose.

What about Harry? Would he be able to handle the search? Even with three other companions, could he fight to the end? He was clever and strong, yes; but, could he get that far? They were the Order's only chance; the world's only chance. But, whatever the outcome would be like, only time would tell.

And to see that, time would have to flow and allow things to slowly fall in place. To allow the magical jigsaw pieces fit into their rightful positions. Yes, love was the strongest weapon that they have that could destroy the Dark Lord, but time would be essential for the bond of purity to be formed between the two key individuals. And as the prophecy said, that was something in which no one should interfere, but allow kismet to take its course. Humans were merely helpless pawns in the hands of fate, and they could only sit back and watch the tragic play unfold according to Fate's wishes.

Deaths were sure to come. But Albus knew that he would not be present to witness the final battle, the final clash between the two worlds of good and evil.

Letting out a gentle sigh, Albus closed the box, hiding its captive. Wholeheartedly; the old man wished that it would not be long before he could see the destruction of the ring. From the looks of things, he could not help but fear that things may not turn out as he had hoped and prayed for them to. But still, there was never harm in hoping.

He would have to learn to trust his instincts, and trust them.

And they, in turn, would have to trust their hearts.


	7. Chapter 7

_A.N: Sorry for the long wait! Please read and review! I welcome suggestions and ideas too, because I'm rather drained of ideas for this story =_

**Chapter 7**

The trio woke up drained and barely rested the next moment, having not gotten enough sleep thanks to their long, late night conversation about prophecies and endless speculating about the plans of the dark side. Meeting in the Common Room as just like any usual morning in Hogwarts, the three of them exchanged murmurs of greetings, of which Ron's was an almost-inaudible snort. They then trudged down grudgingly to breakfast to kick start yet another soon-to-be long day, trying hard to keep their eyes pried open as they navigate their way through the damp, dark castle.

A low, grinding sound suddenly joined the lazy clattering of knives and forks, signalling the arrival of a new red-head. Ginny, youngest and only sister of Ronald Weasley, plopped herself between Hermione and opposite the two boys.

"Morning guys! What's up?"

"Nothing unusual; just a couple of eggs and sausages. Your brother just scored over a particularly difficult puff."

Silence. A quick glance. A raised eyebrow. A questioning look.

Ron was still fully focused on indulging in food, seemingly oblivious to the direction at which the light-hearted conversation was heading.

Harry shot an amused look to the red-headed boy seated next to him. "He was attacking the poor puff relentlessly."

Even with the light-hearted banter, conversation was at its minimum that day. Harry was not exactly in the mood to talk, while Ronald was busy stuffing himself. Hermione, on the other hand, had a lot on her mind, and that conveniently included a certain enigmatic someone. That made quite a difference to the mood, for usually, she would have been extremely delighted when Ginny joined them for breakfast, as it would mean that she could finally have an intelligent conversation and girls' talk that happened ever so occasionally.

So, the rest of breakfast just dragged on in total silence, save for the less pleasant, more disgusting sounds of Ron gobbling down his food.

And then came a point in time where the situation took a turn. For the worse or for the better; it was pretty hard to gauge.

After wolfing down two large slices of toast and a scrambled egg, Ron suddenly paused in the midst of his breakfast with a deep frown upon his forehead. The unusual silence that took over caused Hermione to look up from her own meal.

For a moment, she thought he had choked on a piece of bacon or something.

But then again, it would have been much better if that was indeed the case. Of course, to her despair, it wasn't. Since when would life be so easy?

"Hey 'mione, can I ask you a question? I don't understand something."

Ron leaned forward towards the brunette, who regarded him with a questioning look, speaking in a tentative voice with his eyebrows slightly raised as he wait for her permission to shoot. Hermione sighed, wondering what made her choose a seat directly in front of the boy, especially when he could spark off her anger by just being himself. Not to mention that she totally hated his eating habits. He could even make a hyena look like a perfect gentleman at the dining table.

Whether it was the food or...whatever that made Ron suddenly so much more awake and inquisitive, Hermione had no idea. She was pretty much disturbed by his sudden politeness; so much so that she wondered whether she should throw on her guard and doubt his motives. She had been picking and jabbing lifelessly at her own portion of equally-lifeless scrambled egg, taking a couple of bites every once in a while, feeling totally horrible, when Ronald had to interrupt with his inquisitiveness. Sleep definitely was not a good friend of hers; or to be more exact, the _lack of _sleep did not make her the friendliest person in the morning. Adding on to the fact that the person probing her constantly clinch the _well-revered _position of thorn in her flesh; she was downright grouchy. Rolling her eyes in irritation and impatience, she replied in as casual a tone as she could muster, trying her best not to snap.

"What's new? Just add it on to the already long list of things that you don't understand. Potions, transfiguration, girls -"

"Okay, okay, fine. Transfiguration is close. Sorry if I am being rather random, but I only just remembered." The brunette rolled her eyes again, slightly piqued that the boy cut into her sentence before she could even get half of it out. Ronald paused, swallowed then continued hesitantly. "It's just that I had noticed that recently, you seem a little off during Transfiguration. You are not even volunteering to answer any question! Is there anything wrong?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. Since when was she 'off'-

Oh. A sudden realisation hit home.

Since when did that boy grew to be so observant? She glanced away from the concerned redhead, only to find yet another one looking at her with a look of utter disbelief.

Great. Ginny heard him. Simply marvellous. The last thing that the brunette wanted was teasing from the female redhead.

"Hey! Did I catch that wrongly? Miss Know-It-All Hermione Granger did not volunteer for a single question in class? Woah, that's big news!"

Ginny Weasley turned to join the conversation with enthusiasm without so much of an invite, whipping her long, flaming red hair over her right shoulder to her back in the process. She was a good friend, a nice sister; but she was still a girl. And one vital thing that one must know about girls? They make fantastic loudspeakers. Hermione exhaled with a huff.

Harry better not rub it in any further.

To her relief, he did not. Harry, who was seated beside Ron, facing Ginny, had wisely decided not to say anything but nevertheless, Hermione noted with disappointment, still listened into the conversation with interest. Hermione decided that it was time for her to say something in her own defense.

"Wow. So you _noticed_. I thought that besides drooling, you don't do anything else during _Fleur's_ lesson. This is certainly a surprise."

"Oi, you thought wrong. I had also copied notes during her lesson too."

Obviously missing out on the thick sarcasm that the brunette lathered into her words, the redheaded boy blushed crimson, so much so that he looked exactly the same shade as the wavy red hair that framed his face. He could get pretty dense sometimes, Hermione knew; but she never expected that directing the conversation away from dangerous waters would be so easy. Smirking discreetly, she clapped herself for the clever manipulation.

Retorting rather aggressively, he snapped. "So that is where your problem lies, Fleur?"

Okay, maybe she was wrong. Maybe he wasn't so dense after all.

At that point, Ron bore a striking resemblance to a tomato. He would have been teased at any other given time on the colour of his complexion, but not then, for Hermione was very much caught off-guard with the sudden mention of a certain blonde. Even so, it didn't take long for her defensive mechanism to come to her rescue.

"Who said I had a problem with Fleur? And does it matter to you whether or not I choose to answer questions in a lesson?"

Hermione replied quite heatedly, agitated at the boy for sticking his nose into her affairs, but then regretted it almost straight away. Rushing to reply was definitely bound to invite suspicion, she realised a little too late. Thankfully, the rest didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary.

Apparently Ron's rational side took over (if he had any) for he made the right decision not to probe any further so as not to further incur the brunette's wrath. The other two also silently and quite wisely decided to drop the topic before any of their heads get bitten off.

The topic then turned to Quidditch, leaving a relieved and uninterested Hermione to her own musings.

Amidst the ceaseless chatter about Quidditch which Hermione effectively blocked out so that they were just undistinguishable buzzing in the background, Hermione was deep in her own thoughts. She threw a quick glance at the staff table and scanned through the staff members. Slughorn... Snape... Flitwick...

She was not there.

Hermione bit her lip lightly and turned away. Then, she whacked herself mentally.

Before Ronald Weasley smack her arm.

"Hey, Hermione! Can you believe it? Puddlemere United lost to the Chudley Cannons! I knew they could do it all along!"

Hermione let out an irritated noise and rolled her eyes, while an oblivious Ron continued ranting on and on about his favourite team.

Hermione have not the least bit of interest in whether the seeker of the Holyhead Harpies was hospitalized due to injuries, or whether the Chudley Cannons just won a game after 5 years of defeat. She was too preoccupied with one person on her mind, however much she hated herself for letting that person into her head.

Fleur Delacour.

* * *

"You called for moi, Professor Dumbledore?"

Pushing open the wooden door after hearing a "come in" from the Headmaster, Fleur stood at the open doorway, allowing light to spill out of the circular room.

"Ah yes, I have been expecting you, Ms Delacour. Take a seat, take a seat please!"

The old man politely rose, welcoming the intern with a broad smile and outstretched arms before gesturing to the seat in front of his desk and settling back onto his chair once again.

The Veela strode into the room with such grace that she could have had floated in. Taking the seat, Fleur Delacour inclined her head slightly as a gesture of appreciation. Seated on the delicately carved wooden chair, her posture was perfect. Her back was poker straight, willowy legs neatly folded, while her dainty hands rest one on top of the other on her lap. She was a picture, of beauty, one that was definitely worth more than a thousand words. Tilting her head politely to one side, Fleur waited for the headmaster to speak.

As she strode in, Dumbledore surveyed her face closely. She looked troubled.

"I have noticed that you have been taking over Minerva's duties while she is not well. Barely half a month here and now you have to take over the reins on behalf of Minerva! It must have been quite tough for you!"

Dumbledore was sincerely and genuinely concerned for the young lady. Olympe Maxime had entrusted the girl to him, and she was one of their hopes for the downfall of Voldemort, even though she still has no idea about that.

"Non non! Eet's okay, I am fine with eet! In, fact, I 'ave learnt a lot from these lessons. Eet is only a matter of time before I 'ave to conduct lessons as part of internship, so I am really okay with eet. I am glad to be able to help."

Seeing the passion in the French intern's eyes, as well as her earnest expression and the honesty within the deep blue orbs, the elderly headmaster could not help but to chuckle. It seemed that all his worry was for naught. Everything should be proceeding well; or at least, they appear to be.

"I am glad to hear that. So I presume you would not mind taking over Minerva's duties for about another week or so? Her awful cold has not yet gone away, and she still seems to be rather weak at the moment. "

Minerva McGonagall was a wonderful woman, being Albus's right-hand woman, she worked hard for the Order and the school. Naturally, Albus felt guilty for making her do so much. But everyone in the Order was experiencing immense pressure too, though she clearly had to take on more, being deputy headmistress and all. With the official comeback of Voldemort, everyone was on the alert. The Order's efforts seemed inadequate, though. People were still dying, leaving Muggles confused at the mysterious deaths; Death Eaters' activity were on the rise as these followers of Voldemort tried to recruit and force people to join their ranks. Albus made a mental note to lighten her load; she was no longer as young as before. After all, there was a promising new intern that they could rely on.

"Non, not at all! I am happy to be of assistance."

"Thank you."

Then, adding gently, he asked. "By the way, how do you find life at Hogwarts? The food, the environment? And what about the lessons and the students here? Feel free to speak your thoughts."

Albus smiled lightly, encouraging her to speak up. He had worded the question with much caution and care, subtly trying to gather information about the progress of things. Of course, Fleur, answering with slight hesitation, was unaware of that too.

"Life at 'ogwarts is rather different from Beauxbatons, but I am starting to get used to eet. Ze food here is very tasty, but zere are some, which my taste buds are not very accustomed to. Lessons are interesting, and most of the students are pretty endearing too."

Dumbledore eyes brightened as he took mental note of the word. _Most..._ _Could it be that…?_

"No major problems from difficult students, I hope? I do know that some of the more atrocious ones can get…_overly enthusiastic_ occasionally." _A little bit of help; a little push._

Albus Dumbledore narrowed his eyes slightly behind his trademark half-moon spectacles. Then, he chuckled slightly over his choice of words, which were obviously an understatement. Even though he tried to lighten the mood of their little meeting, Fleur Delacour still seemed to be rather tense.

She hesitated.

"N-not really. Zere are indeed a few zat are more mischievous, but they can be handled with a few detentions. But…zere's also some who does not seem very happy at the thought of me teaching them."

The note of disappointment was clear in her voice and obviously didn't escape the sharp ears of the old man.

"Oh? May I ask who they are? Sorry for being a nosy old man, but it's alright if you prefer me not to know. "

Even if she would not say, Dumbledore himself had a good idea who she was referring to. It was taking quite a lot of effort for the old man to not smile at the thought of the plan going well.

A brief pause of silence followed as Fleur struggled to sort out her thoughts and contemplated on whether she should confide in me. Albus kept his silence and waited patiently.

After waging a silent, minor war with her thoughts, Fleur managed to find her tongue.

"'ermione G-granger."

"Ah." Albus let out a knowing sigh and nodded his head wisely, his eyes closed and his lips closed tightly in a small, discreet smile. Fleur was too busy with her emotions and thoughts that she did not notice that particular tricky smile.

No surprise to Albus there; he knew perfectly well that this was bound to happen. Just as the prophecy said. This was a good sign that everything was proceeding smoothly and in the right direction.

"I see. Ms Granger is a determined young lady, who can sometimes be a little bit too stubborn. Give her a bit more time. She may just take a little longer to get used to you. Don't be too worried about it."

Fleur gave a slight nod of her head. It was pretty clear and obvious that she still seemed troubled and doubtful at the headmaster's words, but that was all he could say for now, for he could not reveal the prophecy until the right time comes.

However, the white-haired man could not deny that how pleased he was to see how much Fleur cared for Hermione. The look in her eyes told him everything. She may have tried to conceal her feelings, but she did not succeed totally.

Albus decided to not pressure and interrogate the poor lady any further.

"Aside from this, it's good to see that you are adapting rather smoothly to life in Hogwarts. Please, if you have any problems, feel free to approach Minerva, any of the other teachers or me. We will be glad to help. After all, we are just like a big family, and being at Hogwarts, you are part of our family."

"Thank you Professor Dumbledore."

"No worries, Ms Delacour."

The door shut with a small click behind the figure of Fleur. Albus Dumbledore took off his spectacles and massaged his eyes gently, a small smile playing at his lips.

It would not be long now.


	8. Chapter 8

_A.N: I got this done in a haste, so please point out errors that I have missed out. Thanks xD _

**_Chapter 8_**

"Man, how lucky can you get, mate? Slughorn could have passed me that Prince bloke's book. I could use a day of luck. Instead, _lucky me _got a book which somebody _puked in._"

Ron collapsed into one of their usual armchairs by the fire, dumping his bag of books on the floor next to it. The Trio just returned from Double Potions, which honestly speaking, turned out to be the most enjoying one they ever had so far in their lives at Hogwarts. It was definitely a nice change not to see a greasy-haired git in the dungeons for once

And it was even better so for Harry.

The boy won twelve hours of liquid luck, thanks to a tattered old Potion book. He and Ron did not expect to take Potions at NEWTs level, for Snape clearly stated that he would not accept anything under an 'Outstanding' for his NEWTs class. Who knew that Snape would not be teaching them at least for the first semester of the year? But no one was complaining, of course. Harry could not deny that he was feeling rather pleased with himself. However, Ron was steadily getting on his nerves with his incessant lamenting on how he could have been the one getting that book.

Harry rolled his eyes dramatically.

"How many times must I hear you say that? I think if I hear that another time, my ears are going to fall off."

Not paying any notice to his rhetorical question at all, Harry dashed upstairs to the boys' dormitory, glad to get away from Ron for the moment.

Dumping the bag of books at the side of his four-poster bed, the boy went to his trunk which was placed at the foot of the bed. Unlocking it with a muttered incantation, he lifted the cover to reveal a jumbled disarray of clothes and miscellaneous items. Extricating a pair of old socks from the mess, Harry stuffed the small vial of golden potion into it, before hiding the socks effectively at the very bottom of the trunk. There was no way that anyone could steal it, not even that Draco Malfoy.

After securing his prize, he changed into his quidditch training attire. Grabbing his Firebolt, the boy went back downstairs, only to find that Ron and Hermione were still arguing over the tattered Potion book.

"You should know better than to trust an unknown book which gives you its own instructions and with many unknown, invented spells in it! For all you know, the spells may be associated with the Dark Arts!"

Not surprisingly, Hermione was being her usual self; very Hermione-like.

It was one tough decision to make; on whether or not to write off Hermione's reaction as one stemming from jealousy, or just plain concern. It was the first time anyone had ever beaten her in Potions; so the doubt was justified. Harry tried his best to keep his face straight as he watched on.

"Come on, Hermione! It gave Harry the right instruction, if not better, on making the potion! It can't be that bad, right? And you yourself have checked the book too, and found absolutely nothing wrong with it! What can you say about that?" Ron challenged.

That day was one of the rare ones in which Ron actually said something that made sense.

Now though, however happy Harry was to have Ron standing up for him, hearing their continuous bickering over a textbook has seriously taken a toll on the poor lad. It was quite the surprise that his ears have not yet fallen off. Choosing to ignore their comments on the book, no matter how logical (or illogical) it sounded, he decided to intervene for the very last time.

"Will you guys just stop talking about that book and whether it is a Dark Object or not? And Ron, if you don't go and get your Quidditch stuff now, we won't have enough time to grab dinner before practice."

Momentarily distracted at the mention of dinner, Ron jumped up.

"Huh? Oh yeah, Quidditch practice! Give me a moment, Harry. I'll be quick!"

Grabbing his book bag, he zoomed towards the stairs. "And don't leave for dinner without me!" He shouted over his shoulders as he went.

"If he is able to react that fast during the first match against Slytherin, we will have nothing to worry about."

Hermione, however, was totally uninterested in Quidditch practice. She was quite ruffled that Harry conveniently just interrupted the little debate that had gotten her quite heated up. She never liked being cut short before she gets her point across.

"We shall continue this conversation some other time, Harry." A stern look from the brunette made him cringed involuntarily. "And don't forget that tomorrow night is reserved for homework. If you two don't want to repeat sixth year at Hogwarts, you guys better get started."

I let out a sigh just as Ron tripped over and tumbled down the stairs painfully, letting out a stream of wizard profanities as he went.

"He really _is _quick." Hermione replied, amused at the sight and clearly forgotten about her anger a moment ago; while her companion smacked his free hand against his forehead and groaned.

**

The morning sun sneaked its way through the gap in the curtains and through the shut lids of the sleeping beauty's eyes. She stirred just for the briefest of moments and then fell still again. A while passed-

-and with a sudden jolt, an alarmed blonde leaped out of the bed.

She scrambled over to the windows, being quite unlike her usual self, and drew back the curtains hastily to find the sun already hanging lazily in the sky.

"_MERDE!"_

The blonde scuttled over to her bedside table, where her wand and a charmed clock sat. The latter innocently showed nine-thirty on its face.

The witch cursed under her breath and, grabbing her wand, headed over to her lavishly-filled closet. In her haste, the unfortunate woman tripped over the foot of the bed and was sent sprawling quite unglamorously onto the carpeted floor. The loud knock was accompanied with a stream of French obscenities that one would never dreamed coming from the woman.

The day did not started off according to what Fleur Delacour had planned. Wake up late and decorate yourself with bruises and grazes. Sprawled on the floor, attire all wrong, hair in total disarray. She took comfort in the fact that there was no one present to bear witness to the horrible situation she was in. That was also partly why she hated people staring at her all the time. She could not even bear to think of what to do if someone was to catch her in such embarrassing moments. If anyone witnessed that, her reputation will be ruined. And that was quite a nightmare for Fleur Delacour, the epitome of _perfection_.

A rude snicker shook the blonde out of her self-absorbed thoughts. Whipping around, she saw Gabrielle laughing openly at her in the photo frame containing their family photo. She had to muster quite a bit of self-control to not fling her fluffy midnight blue pillow at the photo frame. Her parents, juxtaposed to Gabrielle were both looking quite concerned, though Fleur swore that the corners of their mouths were turned the slightest bit up in quiet amusement. Her own twin residing in the photo frame had turned her back towards the real Fleur and hidden her face. In embarrassment, Fleur guessed. She herself was feeling quite warm in the face at that moment. Imagine making yourself look like a total fool in front of your _family_. The lady huffed agitatedly to herself.

She was just about to jump up and dash off to prepare herself for the day, when she glanced at the calendar next to her bed; an act which made her swore out loud, eliciting a noise of disapproval from her mother from inside the family portrait. A wave of relief washed over her. So it was a Saturday. That meant that there was no need for her to wake up so early.

She muttered unintelligibly under her breath. And it was only nine-thirty in the morning.

The French-lady dozed for about another two to two and a half more hours before she decided that she has gotten enough rest. She stretched in a feline manner for a while on the bed before heading off to the bathroom.

Fleur was quite worked up upon seeing her pale reflection in the mirror. She was, after all, a _female. _And God knows how females are when it comes to their looks-

Make that _majority _of the _females._

Unsightly bags stood out from beneath her eyes due to the lack of sleep, and her face looked paler than _usual. _Although the extent of _damage _was not as significant as compared to what it would be on your usual women (thanks to her Veela heritage), it was still significantly _horrible _to Fleur. Blame it on her perfectionist nature.

She went back to the bedroom, grabbed her wand and hurried back into the bathroom. A few quick and skilled charms were all it took for Fleur to freshen herself up and hide the hideous-looking bags under her eyes. With another couple of spells, she got her hair straightened out and into perfect condition. A rudimentary healing spell effectively rid her of the nasty bruises that she sustained earlier on.

Looking back at her twin in the mirror, Fleur gave a satisfactory nod and a smirk.

After checking and double-checking that she looked presentable and fabulous as always, Fleur decided to head down to the Great Hall for breakfast. She had on her favorite black top and a pair of tight-straight Levis that hugged her legs just perfectly. Dress codes had never been one of her major concerns.

Along the way, she ran through the conversation she had with Dumbledore in her mind. She was so bogged down with work that she did not had the chance to think through his words thoroughly. The previous day was such a gruelling day that she was completely drained by the time she returned to her room, and she had gotten into bed as soon as she could.

Somehow, Fleur could not shake off the odd feeling that Dumbledore had more to say than what he did said that morning when I was in his office. His replies were guarded and careful, as though there was something that he did not wished for her to know.

But she has more pressing matters to place her attention on. Fleur comforted herself with the understanding that if it was indeed something important, he would surely have let her know.

She would probably have to wait until Hermione realize that she was not that scary or whatever after all and warm up to her. But Fleur was doubtful that she would

Dumbledore said it as though it was an easy task.

Hermione was so bent on avoiding any form of contact with her. It would be a miracle if one day, she finally straightens out her thinking and decides to be the best of pals with the intern.

Though, judging the situation, miracles seemed to be quite impossible (that's why they are called 'miracles', isn't that so?).

Still, for the previous few lessons, Hermione Granger's attitude towards Fleur during lessons had not change the least bit. Not even increase in receptiveness the least bit.

And it really was getting on her nerves.

******

**[Lesson (flashback)]**

**Friday**

"_Can anyone tell me ze essentials for performing a non-verbal spell in Tranfiguration?"_

_The class unanimously turned their attention to Hermione Granger, who was staring so hard at her Transfiguration book cover as though it had offended her in some way. No hand shot up._

_Well, that was not unexpected. The brunette was always awfully silent in her classes. _

"_No one?" The professor looked around at the students. Some had given up on the thought that Hermione would volunteer an answer and had begun to rifle fervently through their Transfiguration textbooks just in case they would be called. An unnecessary attempt; for Fleur had no intentions of doing so. She ignored them plainly, allowing her gaze to linger on Hermione who adamantly refused to meet her gaze as though she was a Basilisk._

"_Ms Granger?"_

"_Yes Professor?" She asked in a cool manner, her gaze never leaving the book. Her words cut like ice shards. How Fleur wished masochistically that she was in that book's position. To have the young woman's undivided attention... _

_Fleur noticed the brunette's hands clenching tightly into balls under the table._

"_I would appreciate eet greatly eef you can just look at __moi __when you are talking to __moi__."_

_By that time, she had already reached the front of her desk, her own hands clenched behind her back as she looked down at the stoic girl._

_Slowly, she pulled her attention away from the book, making the process look almost painful. Her eyes slowly travel up the older woman's body until she found her face. Fleur could almost feel her body burn under her gaze. Hermione's stare was hard and unyielding, and she seemed determined to not let any emotions show._

_The moment their eyes meet, everything else was drowned out. The rest all faded into the background. Nothing else mattered to Fleur, except for the _woman (girl?)_ in front of her._

_Her eyes were cold and hard. Fleur felt her stomach clench as she saw the undisguised hatred within those penetrating eyes. It unnerved her. It unnerved the _poised, picturesque perfect Fleur Delacour_. It made her struggle inwardly to keep her voice steady as she spoke._

_If stares could kill, the brunette's would be deadly._

"_Do you know ze answer?" _

_Fleur met her gaze as calmly as she could, making sure not to let any hint of emotion or weakness surface either. No way was the prideful woman going to give in to her. Even though (reluctant she was to admit it,) she was close to breaking inside._

_The tension between the two women was so thick that it would not have been a surprise if the other students did noticed that something was wrong._

_Dramatic as it may sound, they stayed that way for about a minute or so, just glaring at each other. To an outsider, it looked almost as thought the two were communicating with their eyes._

_Fleur held on to steadfastly to the eye contact (the only form of contact they ever had between them)._

_But Hermione broke it._

_Her gaze dropped back to the textbook cover. The brunette stared at the same spot on her book for five seconds, before reciting out the answer to the question, word-perfect as though she was reading it off straight from the text._

_Her eyes never left the book cover._

_At that point, Fleur was quite sure that the _girl (woman?)_ would not mind it if the book replaced her as Transfiguration intern._

"_Zat's correct. Now, non-verbal spells in transfiguration…" _

_The lesson resumed with much effort from the blonde in trying to appear indifferent to how she was treated._

_It was not an easy task. She could almost feel her heart crack inside._

_And for the entire lesson, not once did Hermione Granger look at her again._

******

Fleur could not decide on what was worst; the brunette's scowling at her, or ignoring her completely. At least she acknowledged the woman's presence when she scowled. However, she seemed to have taken to treating the blonde like an invisible being, and refusing to even look at her. It really pissed Fleur off to be treated so insignificantly. After all, Fleur was used to having things her way.

Her presence was always made _known._

But it looked like she could not even compare herself to a ghost in Hermione's eyes. She was even less significant than one. At least they are vaguely translucent.

On the topic of transparency, Fleur really wished that the _woman (girl?)_ was. That way, it would probably make things much easier for her. She would be able to read Hermione and figure out what was the problem, just like how Hermione always read her books.

Fleur found herself at a total loss on what to do. She could not proceed, with Hermione being difficult; she could not turn back either, she had fallen deep. If the puzzling _girl or woman_ really was her destined other half, then...Fleur did not have the slightest inkling on what to do. Hermione was steadfastly stubborn and hard to comprehend. Fleur could never understand what goes on in the complexities of her mind. Heck, Fleur doesn't even know what she did wrong to have herself being treated like that!

She had barely given the enigma her heart, and she has already cracked it. How long would it take her to break the part-Veela's heart completely?

And to think that Veelas were supposed to be very intuitive.

It could not be denied that Fleur _is _a very intuitive individual. She can connect to others really well. She can pick up emotions and feelings like radar. But Hermione Granger really got her stumped.

How can she solve a problem to which she know not the root?

The Frenchwoman sighed. She made a mental note to write to her family soon to let them know about the situation she was stuck in.

If Hermione really is her destined mate and she fails to win her over, Fleur knew that her days would be considered numbered. She remembered how Grandmother had constantly warned them about the dire consequences of not finding love. One will slowly lose one's will to live. Somehow, that not only applies to Veelas, but to all of humanity too. Imagine a life without any love at all; void of any type of love...

For Veelas, who are emotional creatures; ordinary feelings and emotions are strangely amplified, and they thus experience and feel much more. It is, contrary to beliefs, more of a _curse_ than a gift.

Without love, ordinary human beings may just live a life without meaning, becoming an empty shell.

But for Veelas, life would be akin to meaningless _torture_, and most would choose death over existence. Because circumstances made it hard for them to find their mates, their numbers dwindled low.

Death would be sweet compared to a loveless life.


	9. Chapter 9

**__****A.N: **_Found this lying half-completed in my computer, so decided to just finish the chapter and put it up, seeing that I haven't been updating for ages. Time is scarce with my numerous commitments, and now that most of the commitments are over, I really need to focus on my studies. So updates will not come by that often. PLease do understand that. :l Thank you for the support you guys have given!_

**Chapter 9**

Fleur entered the Great Hall approximately five minutes later after leaving the comfort of her room. Most of the students and staff had already finished their breakfast, which was surprising. Most would be expected to spend a longer time lazing in their beds, seeing that it was a Saturday morning. A good counter-argument would probably be that the morning was too good to be wasted in bed. After all, Saturday mornings are usually the chosen time for Quidditch trainings and Hogsmeade outings for the older students.

Fleur did not believe in the latter though, prefering to spend more bonding time with her bed. Oh; spoilt your perfect image of the woman? Don't be too surprise; she is still three-quarters human, after all. A picture speaks a thousand words; they say. But what people often fail to notice is that a picture conceals _millions_ of words.

Fleur's gaze swept over the remaining few bleary-eyed, just-out-of-bed stragglers that were left in the Great Hall, noting some who were sporting horrendous bed-heads with disapproval. One in particular stood out to her. The familiar, yet at the same time so foreign, bushy, brown locks of Hermione Granger. Fleur scrutinised the brunette's hair with narrowed eyes.

But the next thing she knew, she was no longer looking at messy brown locks. She was looking into the amber-brown depths of the brunette's eyes.

The _brunette's eyes._

And what Fleur saw within froze her with as much impact as that of a Stunning spell.

It was the first time; _the first time, _that Hermione's eyes were not a solid block of hatred. The _very first time _the brunette's eyes were actually a smooth, liquid brown. Passive interest? Fleur guessed not. The brunette probably forgot to put on her little hatred mask today.

Her gaze was soft, and Fleur thought that she could see pain in the golden-brown depths of her eyes. She passed it off as a probable figment of her imagination. Why would the girl be pained upon seeing her anyway? Fleur had little to do with her (however much she wanted); there was not any way could she do anything to hurt her.

Fleur gave her head a slight shook after she noticed that the brunette broke the gaze. She was standing there for quite a while, like a smooth, ivory statue. Standing there, statue-esque for who knows how long certainly made Fleur feel stupid after she got out of her musings. She was starting to feel conscious of the stares and glances that were blatantly aimed at her. However, life was cruel, as always. The one which she ached to make eye-contact with was determinedly faced away from her, as if she was a gruesome sight too much to bear.

Fleur moved to her seat, glaring at those whose eyes were on her as she went. Said pairs of eyes hastily reverted back to what they were doing before the part-Veela entered the room. Fleur sat down, deep in thought.

It didn't make any sense to the poised woman why the girl would hate her the previous day and then look at her as though nothing had happened in the next. Fleur wanted to take it as a sign that Hermione was warming up to her, but she did not dare to be so optimistic. Ah, the veela's insecurities.

Who said Veelas have it easy when it comes to love? Sure thing, she is intuitive and perceptive; but Hermione throws all her senses off. Right, it was as easy to believe as believing that Crabbe actually has brains, but it was true. Veelas do get confused by their emotions. A sign from above?

Maybe.

The girl was a real enigma. There wasn't really a need for further elaboration why Fleur was drawn in.

Fleur ate little, as usual. After a helping of scrambled eggs and a slice of toast, she left the Hall for her humble abode. The Trio had already left, and the brunette did not throw her a second glance.

After taking a detour no thanks to Peeves wreaking havoc along her usual route, it was about eleven-thirty when the Frenchwoman reached her room. Upon her entry, she discovered a a lean, tawny owl perched on her desk, hooting enthusiastically with shining eyes.

"Edrin! Eet's been so long since Gabrielle sent you! What do you 'ave for me zis time?"

Fleur threw off all poise and loftiness as she dashed to the desk with a squeal and patted the tawny owl's head, elated to have correspondence from home. It was as though Fleur had returned back to the days when she was a young girl, free of responsibilities and problems. It was quite needless for the author to mention how much our dear protagonist missed her home. The equally excited owl nipped the young woman/girl's finger playfully.

Fleur undid the heavy package tied to Edrin's right leg with a smile that lit her eyes.

"Gosh, eet must 'ave been a difficult flight. Zis package is 'eavy!"

Edrin hooted quite dolefully and buried his head in one wing. Fleur laughed out loud.

"Alright, stop acting! Otherwise people may really zink zat we are mistreating you!"

The amused blonde shook her head as the owl hooted again and opened a drawer on the wooden desk, grabbing a packet of owl treats she kept around for times like that. Scooping out a handful, she placed them in a customized bowl that she have on the desk specially for the owl's use. Being a Delacour's owl sure has its privileges.

After he hooted his thanks and turned to the treats, Fleur left him alone in his ravaging and carried the package to her bed. She guessed that Gabrielle was really generous with her treats with this letter. The package weighed quite the weight. Fleur made a mental note to thank her beloved sister properly in her reply.

The food and snacks often make Fleur feel the deep, throbbing ache for home. They were not easily found in Scotland after all. Fleur set the bundle down, then extricated the firmly attached letter from the bundle and opened it.

_**0.0**_

_Dear Fleur,_

_You haven't been writing! –pouts- I have sent you so many packages of food and not a single decent letter back on how you are doing! No way am I going to be grateful receiving just 'Thanks, Gabrielle.' You better write us a proper letter back! And just to be sure, I told Edrin to stay there and annoy you as much as possible until you do so. –smirks- Don't think you can get away by bribing him with those owl treats! I swear he gets fatter every time he returns!_

Fleur chuckled and glanced at the desk. Edrin was looking at her with her head cocked slightly to the side. She could swear that she saw him smirk in an owl-ish way. Fleur made a mock, child-like threatening gesture at the owl.

_Alright, don't you threaten poor Edrin. He's only doing his job. Father and Mother are fine, but they keep nagging on and on in their letters to me about you not updating us regarding your life in Hogwarts. So you better give me a decent reply, if not…don't blame me for what I will do. Ha._

_You owe me a lot for all those Howlers I keep receiving from Mother. All thanks to lack of news from your side. Humph. My friends all thought that the problem is with me! All right, I admit that I do have a...toenail out of line at times, but please! Not enough to be deserving of the Howlers. –huff- _

_You know that Father and Mother always visit me at Beauxbatons every weekend just like they did for you last time? When they are here, they almost nagged my ears off. And when it's the weekdays, Mother's Howlers will scream my ears off. You be glad that I am not there to do the same for you for putting me through all that. _

_Grandmother is asking about you too, so I shall not keep you occupied here. Go write a reply immediately and send it back before my fingers drop off from replying to Father and Mother's incessant nagging._

_Love, _

_Gabrielle_

_**0.0**_

The blonde rolled her eyes, and decided that she had better get quill to parchment before her parents come marching up to Hogwarts demanding news of her. That certainly was not out of the Delacours' capacity. Fleur lightly leaped off the bed and walked over to the desk, with the owl Edrin eyeing her with interest when she sat down. Fleur almost could hear the little gears turning in his head. Edrin was one clever owl.

"Don't annoy me now, Edrin. I am going to write back already, okay?"

Edrin let out a hoot and went back to his treats.

_**0.0**_

_Dear Gabrielle,_

_Thanks a lot for the packages. They are very much appreciated. I am fine; really, fine! Do let Maman and Papa know that please; oh, and Grandmere as well. I am still not that used to the food here though; I may have lost a few pounds after coming here. Not that that is not something to be happy about though._

_I am sorry for putting you through all the nagging, soeur. I have been really busy here. Professor McGonagall has fallen ill and I have to take over her lessons for her for the time being._

_But I really am adapting well here. Quite well, at least..._

Edrin flitted over to stand next to the parchment when the scratching of quill on parchment stopped. Fleur paused with a distant gaze, unsure of whether to continue. Was there really a need to let them know everything? She felt the tickling of a feather on her hand, but ignored it for she thought it was just the quill.

The next thing she knew, a sharp pain shot through her finger. Edrin had nipped her finger hard, but not hard enough to draw blood.

Fleur let out a startled gasp at the sudden pain and frowned at the owl. "_Bien_! I will write! Go back to your food!"

_...Okay, maybe I am not that fine after all; I am having a little problem here. _

_You know how Grandmere always say that it is important for us to find our soulmate? _

_I think I have found mine. Don't be shock or anything, but it's a 'she'._

_But the little problem here is that, I don't think she likes me very much. She has been treating me rather coldly and refuses to look at me most of the time, even during lessons. So I am at a lost on what to do. It doesn't help either that her moods are pretty unpredictable too. I shall stop here, writing all these have brought down my mood considerably. _

_Alright, I hope this is a decent letter to you. Edrin is nodding approvingly as he watch me write, so I assume that it is passable. Pass my regards to Grandmere, Papa and Maman. Love you._

_Love, _

_Fleur_

_P.S Keep the food coming!_

_**0.0**_

Fleur rolled up the piece of parchment neatly and sealed it with a tap of her wand. After tying it securely to Edrin's leg, the blonde woman gave him a pat on his head. The owl shut his eyes momentarily upon feeling the woman's touch, and said woman chuckled lightly at the sight. Opening his large eyes, Edrin mischievously nipped her index finger and hooted lightly. Finally, the owl hopped onto the windowsill and took flight.

Fleur stood by the window and watched the brown owl grow smaller and smaller as he flew further and further away, towards her homeland, towards her home. It would be a lie to say that Fleur didn't miss home. Fleur did miss her home; a lot, in fact. Being alone in a foreign land was no doubt unsettling. But Fleur never backs down from anything. Likewise, she would never return without completing her stint at Hogwarts. With _honours. _

Edrin soon became a mere speck in the distance. Fleur walked back to her bed, feeling slightly suffocated. She has been feeling that way since halfway through her response to her family. It seemed that writing all her worries out has opened up the mental dam she placed on her emotions. Everything just surge forth without warning. Fleur let her body fall onto the bed and rested on her back with her eyes close, chest rising and falling deeply.

Fleur was definitely frustrated with the complexity of it all. She had tried to figure out the reason for Hermione's lack of warmth towards her. Obviously she did not succeed in that.

She has been worrying about the matter so excessively that it was putting quite a strain of the blonde. Fleur shook her head a little violently, her sinewy fingers running through blonde locks in irritation. It suddenly dawned upon her that all the while, she has placed herself at the receiving end of the brunette's hostile treatment. She has condescended herself, albeit unknowingly. Fleur even found it hard to believe that she could be so dense. But then again, it was...love? Or merely infatuation? Hermione's certainly an enigmatic person. Her hostility towards Fleur only served to make her more attractive and interesting to the blonde. Self-torture, perhaps?

Fleur sighed. Love has made a fool of her. Come to think of it again, was it love? Or did Fleur mistaken obsessive interest for something more?

Fleur guessed it was about time she took matters into her own hands. Love or obsession; either be damned. She was not going to sit idly by, letting her emotions make a fool of her. She needed to speak to the brunette soon. Fleur could not stand the idea of her heart being shattered any further.

Cheesy as it may sound, Fleur needed Hermione to mend her heart.


	10. Chapter 10

_A.N. All right, I'm back. Don't worry; I don't think I'll junk this story. It's just that I hit a major block and sort of lost track of how I want this to proceed. The original plan doesn't appeal to me much now. I think I can delve deeper than that. After all, this is my first story; and I have to admit that I've come a long way since I first started out. So there will be some changes to my plans for this story. For the better. _

**Lure: Chapter 10**

The warmth of the morning sun gently roused a slumbering blonde from her sleep. Fleur peeled her eyes open with slight difficulty. She was not feeling any much better than the day before. The emotional stress still weighed heavily on the woman. Fleur let out a sigh. A particular brunette was going to drive her up the wall eventually if she continued plaguing her mind. The troubled blonde ran a slender hand through her tresses and swore to cleanse her mind of the girl.

It was not going to be the easiest of all tasks.

Going about her usual morning routine in a daze, Fleur almost tripped over the carpet twice. Grumbling in French under her breathe about bad carpeting, she proceeded to freshen up. Emerging from the bathroom while absent-mindedly drying her face with a towel, the young woman heard a sharp noise; a distinct knock on glass.

The sound gave her a little start; she took in a sharp intake of breathe at the shock. Glancing around for the source, it was then that she realized a handsome owl standing on the windowsill, a slightly annoyed look gracing his owlish features.

The woman brightened up, lips curling upwards at the sight. She had not expected such a quick reply.

The owl hooted impatiently and fluffed his feathers several times while waiting for Fleur to unlock the catch and allow him entry. After perching himself comfortably on the back of a chair, he nipped Fleur's finger hard.

"Ouch! All right, sorry! I didn't know you would be back so soon so I didn't bother to open the window. Sorry!"

Though still looking rather miffed, he grudgingly stuck out his left leg towards her. Fleur rolled her eyes, making sure that Edrin saw her doing so. She mumbled something about pettiness as she untied the letter attached, placing it on the desk before grabbing some owl treats reluctantly. A part of her did not wanted to do so after that unrelenting nip he gave her, but so as not to risk getting heavily pecked with that strong beak of his, Fleur smartly decided to concede, not wanting him to mar her skin.

After making sure that the glutton of an owl was satisfied, Fleur went back to her unopened letter. She had barely even unrolled it from its tight furl when another owl swept into the room, stirring up a gust of wind. The lady jumped in shock, dropping the letter she was holding.

The second huge, handsome owl landed on the chair that Edrin had just vacated and turned to look at the blonde with anticipation, fluffing his feathers out slightly. Edrin threw a disinterested glance at the newcomer before returning to his incessant gobbling, greeting the newcomer with a soft and slightly muffled call into the food dish. The other owl responded in his own deep call, which almost sounded like an owl-ish growl.

"Xavier!"

Xavier let out another deep call in response. Fleur petted him lightly on the head, curious to see that her grandmother had apparently also responded to her letter. Not that she was complaining. It was about time she get some answers. She reminded herself to thank Gabrielle. There was no doubt that her sister had forwarded her letter back home. It was just like her to do so; efficient and trustworthy Gabrielle.

Xavier had always been her grandmother's favourite owl. When she was still a small girl, she had always wondered why her grandmother did not choose a friendlier-looking owl. However, she grew to understand as she matured. Xavier was rather similar to her grandmother in many ways. His temperament, his character, and Fleur could almost even swear that he bore a slightest bit of resemblance to Madame Delacour, especially the eyes. She chuckled softly at that thought; that was probably what people meant when they say that pet owners tend to look a bit like their pets.

Fleur carefully undid the bundle attached to Xavier's coarse leg, all the while eyeing his claws vicious-looking claws that were scarily long.

"Share ze treats with Xavier, Edrin. Don't fight, all right?" She added more owl treats into the bowl. Edrin gave an assuring hoot, before moving aside to let Xavier have his share.

Fleur gazed absent-mindedly at the platonic interaction between the two owls. Although sometimes she could not help worrying that Edrin would be bullied by the larger Xavier, it never failed to amaze her how the two, with strikingly different personalities for owls, could get along so while as thought they were brothers.

She could not help but feel a twinge of jealousy, wondering if that would ever be possible between Hermione and herself. Then, she shook her head at her silliness; who would juxtapose a pair of owls to humans?

Heaving another sigh, Fleur bent down to pick up Gabrielle's letter.

_**0.0**_

_Fleur,_

_Just __TALK__ to HER ALREADY SISTER._

_If you don't, you would never ever figure out what is wrong! Follow your heart!_

_Nope, not dreadfully shocked or anything. Though I have to admit that I was indeed stunned. Not for long though; about 5 seconds. No permanent damage! _

_Oh, and I forwarded your letter home. Which was what I expect you would have wanted me to do anyway. So I guess you will get a reply from them soon. _

_Love,_

_Gabrielle_

_**0.0**_

Fleur gave a small chuckle. It seemed that Gabrielle shared her sentiments. Now, she would just have to find some way to confront the girl who was bogging her thoughts almost every single day.

Fleur ripped open Madame Delacour's letter and gasped in surprise at the length of it. The entire length of the parchment was printed in a delicate, cursive script. The letter was obviously penned down in a rush, judging from the occasional blotches of ink decorating the parchment.

_**0.0**_

_Fleur,_

_MY DEAR! We haven't heard from you for eons! Imagine how happy we are when Gabrielle sent your letter to us! Are you really settling down fine over there? Do you need us to send more food over? I always thought that the English have something wrong with their taste buds. The kind of food they consume; mon dieu._

_Forget about the food first, there are more serious matters at hand. You mentioned about your soulmate? All right, I know you and Gabrielle have heard me say this about a million times already (pardon an old woman for nagging), but this issue cannot be taken lightly. Your parents absolutely agree too! _

_About this fortunate young lady who caught your eye, I am not going to nag at you about your choice. Not like it's your choice anyway, if she really is your destined mate. Anyone whom you have taken a fancy to would definitely be of good calibre, seeing your tastes, so we are not really worried about that. OH je suis desolé! I am digressing! Tends to happen when you get older; pardon the old lady._

_So you are having some troubles with the lady? That is actually good! OH NO, but you must not think that grandmother is going batty. I think it's time you get to know about this. _

_All that is happening between you and the young lady is not unusual. It is common for most veelas to have difficulty getting along with their mates in the beginning. This is because their destined other half still has not seen through their appearance. Unlike others, a Veela's destined mate will react more strongly towards the veela. Things are a bit complicated for same-sex veela couples, as the jealousy, or negative feelings against the Veela, will be amplified in the destined mate as compared to others of the same gender. The extent of these feelings varies between different couples though. This may explain why your young lady is treating you in that manner. I am sorry I had not told you this earlier. When one gets older, one tends to get more absent-minded. Do forgive this old woman._

_So, after the mate realizes that the veela is not a shallow creature, like most people's misconceptions, the negative feelings will subside. Therefore, you need not worry too much about it._

_Because of the fact that we veelas are such emotional creatures, the relationship will be rather different from others. Your mate will be the only one who can understand the true you, the one that is hidden under the Veela in you (or part-veela). This is sort of a realization that stems from the initial misunderstanding, which ensures that your mate is not bound to you by the pull from your Veela nature, or as we term it, your thrall._

_So you can see, my dear, that her current attitude towards you is not that bad. It indicates that she is really your destined one. But it also means that you have to put in a lot of effort to win her over to, so don't be complacent, my dear girl._

_Just follow your heart._

_Love,_

_Grandmother_

_**0.0**_

Fleur suddenly felt light-headed at the immense amount of information loaded on her. Sinking down on to the bed, the woman fell back and threw her arms wide open. She could not help but feel angry. She was angry that the brunette has to put her through all this confusion. She did not ask for it! Why couldn't her destined 'mate' be an ordinary, nice man who could just come and sweep her off her feet?

Not only must she deal with her own emotions now, she has to handle the complexities of the brunette as well.

Simply great.


	11. Chapter 11

_A.N. Hey there, this has got to be the fastest update ever. I have a few days break before my next paper and seeing that this chapter was close to completion, I decided to just get it done. Haha. Don't expect the next chapter to be up so soon though. I need to get my head back to the books. ) _

_Not many reviews there, but just to let you guys know, I would like some opinions on the story. How's it going? Too slow? Any major loopholes that need to be addressed? Any suggestions on how to proceed? If you read the previous chapter, you will know that I want to change my plans for this story. Give me some inspiration with reviews yea? Thanks :)_

_Oh and to _Marquise Merteuil_: Your PM made me laugh out loud! Haha. Here's what you wanted! Cheers. :)_

**Lure: Chapter 11**

"Brringgg."

A bleary-eyed brunette woke up with groggily with a muffled grunt. Slamming her hand on to the snooze button, Hermione reluctantly dragged herself out of her four-poster bed, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. Light was already streaming into the small circular dormitory from the windows, gently probing at her half-opened eyes.

It was Sunday, a day that Hermione had designated for herself to finish off the week's homework and get in extra reading and research for the lessons for the coming week. Some find her passion for work to be driven by possible mental instability, but of course, Hermione ignored them. Their opinions never mattered much to her. All that mattered was that she took pride in her work.

A glance at the alarm clock told her that it was nine in the morning. That gave her a full thirty minutes before she meet up with her counterparts downstairs at the Common Room. Hermione could safely bet that the two boys would be late, so she didn't make it a point to hurry as she go about her morning routine.

Hermione grabbed a fresh pair of jeans, a body hugging printed tee and headed to the shared bathroom. Though she was not as athletically fit and lean as Ginny, she was not fat either. The brunette scrutinised her body in the full-length mirror hanging in the bathroom. She was not satisfied with the way she looked; feeling that she could afford to lose some 'roundness' and put on a pound of muscle or two. She has never really agreed with the traditional patriarchal portrayal of females as weak and feeble. She wanted to be able to stand for herself. Although she was not someone who really cared for looks, some part of her wanted to appear stronger and more in control. Somewhat like Ginny. There was just something about the younger woman that gave off a strong air of confidence.

However, it did not really help that Hogwarts only offer a single sport: Quidditch. Being an average flier, it was definitely out of the question for Hermione to gain a position in the house Quidditch team. Not to mention that it was a rough sport and thus, out of her element. Hence, there were not many opportunities for the brunette to work out.

A sudden thought struck her. Maybe she could try jogging. Someday.

Hermione joined the two boys chattering about in the Common Room. They were, very much to her surprise, actually early.

"Hey 'mione, Ron and I are going to head out later to play some Quidditch. Fancy coming along?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at the expected comment. Whenever there was free time plus good weather, there was no doubt that the two would scuttle out for a game of Quidditch. It was just an unspoken fact about boys; Hermione supposed. They were always the outdoor sort. Viktor was the same as well; Hermione recalled. She briefly remembered him saying that he was going swimming. That was not the surprising thing though; what was surprising was that it was during winter that he said that. But of course, she later found out that it was in preparation for the Second Task, so perhaps that should not count. Then again, Viktor was a Quidditch player.

"So?" An impatient Ron bugged. Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head. She was still appreciative that they had they courtesy to invite her along though, despite knowing her lack of interest in the sport.

"No, I don't think so. You guys go ahead and have fun. I will be in the library for the whole day if you need to look for me. Thanks for asking."

"Alright, you sure you will be fine?"

"It's Hogwarts, Harry. I won't be kidnapped or anything, don't worry."

Ron laughed.

"That's not what I meant-"

"I know what you mean, I will be fine alone. Go ahead and enjoy the weather and the game. The fine weather will not last long, you know."

Hermione gave the boy a reassuring smile. That was probably one of Harry's greatest strengths, as well as one of his flaws; he cared too much for the people close to him. Sometimes so much so that he would, more often than not, land into some sort of trouble no thanks to his heroic tendencies. But still, it was a trait that made him a loyal friend that Hermione would not hesitate to trust.

The unsure look on Harry's face turned to one of delight.

"Thanks 'mione, you are the best!"

The brunette nodded slightly. It did not really mattered to her much that she would be alone in the library when the two boys are off having fun at the Quidditch pitch. She had always preferred to be alone; taking peace and comfort in solitude. It definitely beats being in the company of 'friends' who do not even acknowledge one's presence when one is with them. The physical presence, together with the emotional detachment with these pseudo-friends, often makes her feel that loneliness is strangely amplified when one is not alone. However much Hermione hated to admit it, she did not like the feeling of being an outcast.

Hermione actually found that loneliness and solitude actually suited her. It allows her time and space to think and sort through the tangled, inchoate mess of thoughts that have been confusing her so much that she didn't know what to do anymore.

Which was why books were often her little escape route from reality. They leave her free to think, ponder, contemplate and mull over complex issues.

Issues related to a certain someone.

Entering the Great Hall, Hermione found her thoughts involuntarily drifting to the day before.

_Blue eyes...the silvery mane of hair that seemed almost like silk...I wonder whether it would feel like silk...wouldn't mind running my hands through it to find out for myself...bet she would freak out if she knew I was thinking this...what was she thinking when our eyes met? She stoned there for quite a while, and those stupid guys were staring at her as though she was on an exhibit. I swore I saw that Crabbe ogling at her chest. That bloody idiot better learn how to keep his eyes to himself or I would not mind gouging them out myself. _

Hermione's eyes hardened in annoyance as she remembered the Slytherin's blatant appreciation, _nonono, _make that devouring of the blonde with his eyes the day before. She almost wanted to hex his manhood off. That disgusting, vile, sidekick of Malfoy.

_Talking about sidekicks. It would be fantastic if I could kick him for that. Idiot wolf lusting over the blonde sheep. But...that didn't seem right. Fleur's definitely not a sheep. She has more brains than I thought. Wait-Fleur? I-I meant Delacour. Yes, brain; _Delacour. _Not some pretty head who's only good at charming with her boobs. Wow, an internal rhyme. But she definitely is charming. Not just her boobs. Though they are pretty charming too. _

Wait...Hermione did not just think that Fleur Delacour _is_ charming.

_But she is charming! Look at her body! And her eyes...I could drown in them all day..._

"'mione? You alright? Your eyes just glazed over and you seem to be very deep in thought. Is there anything wrong?"

It was then Hermione's eyes widened to the size of Galleons.

_What on earth just went through my mind!_

Hermione let out a nervous cough in a bid to distract a surprisingly observant Ronald from her fluster. "Don't worry so much, Ron. I am fine, there's nothing wrong. Nothing. Simply _nothing. _Or at least, nothing concerning you. Even then, it's nothing of importance."

Ronald looked unconvinced, with an eyebrow raised as he noted the tinge of red that was steadily appearing beneath the brunette's cheeks.

"If you say so… But you know, 'Mione, you don't usually ramble." The red-head mumbled a reply with a mouthful of eggs.

"I don't? Oh, but I wasn't rambling! No, maybe just a bit excitable today. Look, there's sausages!"

Ron looked in the direction Hermione pointed to and his eyes lit up.

Harry, of course, the ever-sensitive man, was still mulling over what Hermione said, ignoring the Ron beside him who was starting to shovel sausages onto his plate for him after clearing half onto his own.

Harry lowered his voice so that it became a hoarse whisper which Ron cannot catch.

"I have to agree with Ron, you are not yourself lately. You may not want to tell us what is wrong, but just know that if you ever need any help, you know who to find." Harry winked. Hermione hurriedly made the decision to steer the discussion away from the touchy regions.

"Who? The giant squid? Yeah, he will be helpful."

Harry laughed, before shooting Hermione a look of mock horror.

At the sound of Harry's laughter, Ron looked up from his plateful of sausages, clearly lost.

"Did I miss something? What's so funny?"

His companions both shot a look at him and his look of total confusion. Harry and Hermione exchanged glances, before Harry burst out into another fit of laughter. Shaking her head at the bespectacled boy, the female struggled to contain her giggles.

"Will someone tell me what just happened around here?" Ron pestered again, clearly feeling quite annoyed that he was the only one who did not have an idea what was happening around him.

"Just joking around." Hermione barely managed to get the three words out before she join Harry in his laughing fit, leaving a far-from-amused Ron to glare at his sausages in silence.

After the laughter died off, Hermione found herself involuntarily drifting back into her thoughts once again.

_I wonder what her laughter sounds like. _


	12. Chapter 12

_A.N. One more paper; I'm going to win! I'm going to prove myself with faith._

_Thank you for all the introspective reviews. Really appreciate them a great deal! Keep them coming! I have quite a nice, feasible idea coming along basing on the reviews. So yea, you guys are welcome to help boost my engine with ideas. xD_

_Oh, I apologise for grammatical errors and such. I'm working on them; but it will definitely be helpful if you guys can help me point them out. Thanks._

**Lure: Chapter 12**

"The difference in the ingredients between the Draught of Living Death and the Sleeping Draught and how these ingredients alter the effects of each potion…hmm…adding more lacewings to the latter will result in...but...the different strengths of the potions…"

Poring over the potion textbook searching for relevant information for the piece of homework that Professor Slughorn has set for the weekend, Hermione rested her head on her left hand, deep in thought. A hand ran through the messy brown curls that were her hair, untangling it at the same time. Her mind involuntarily drifted off to Ron and Harry, who must be having plenty of fun at the Quidditch pitch while she slogged over her homework. No matter, she was sure that they would come to regret it later. Hermione was not feeling very charitable. They would have to do their essays on their own, without hers as a "reference".

She picked up the eagle feather quill and pursed her lips, frowning as she checked through the essay. Liquid brown eyes roved rapidly over the neat, cursive prints as she review what she had written. An occasional word here; a cross there.

Hermione could not help feeling that there was still something missing. And it did not help that she have absolutely no idea how to conclude the fifteen inch essay.

Twirling the quill, the brunette knitted her brows and frowned at the parchment. It was decorated with several stray spots of ink; a result of her constant slamming of the quill onto the table. She stuck the tip of the quill back into the bottle of ink, and then paused slightly.

The only sound that met her ears was her own rhythmic breathing. There wasn't anybody else in the library except for the bad-tempered librarian, Madam Pince. As usual. The library was never crowded during the weekends. It was not the most popular place to hang out. Seeing that it was not exactly the most comfortable place in the whole of Hogwarts, not many would like to spend their leisure time in the library except when they really need to. The ventilation in the library was horrible, with the dusty, moldy smell of old books and materials. But of course, looking at the vast amount of time our female protagonist has spent in the library, she has long gotten used to the warm and stuffy atmosphere in it.

Hermione directed her focus back to the parchment. She ignored the sound of soft footfalls against the hard, stone flooring of the library, thinking that it was just the middle-aged librarian.

After a few frustrating minutes of sentence rewording and cancelling, Hermione slammed her quill onto the table again. Madam Pince would have given her a disapproving look if she was anywhere nearby, but Hermione had picked a table well hidden from view by the numerous bookshelves, to which she approached in her search for relevant reference books.

Hermione picked a book off the shelf, noting the title with interest. Upon opening it, however, interest turned to disgust as the brunette grimaced visibly at the mess of sticky greenish substance smeared onto the page. It was amazing how, despite being rarely visited, quite a number of the library's collection were in horrible conditions. Hermione hastily stuffed the disgusting book back into its original position carelessly, not wanting to lose her breakfast.

After about five minutes of browsing, the young woman grabbed the couple of books that she had picked out and turned to head back to my table. Cradling a book in her left hand and holding the other open with her right, she rounded a corner sharply. Only to bump into someone who was holding an armful of books.

Stepping onto the stranger's foot, Hermione lost her balance and fell forward, no thanks to the fast speed at which she was going. The other woman let out a surprised yelp and fell backwards onto the cold floor.

With a series of loud thumps that resounded throughout the library, the books tumbled merrily onto the grimy floor and laid there in a jumbled mess.

Hermione found herself lying on top of the other part with her hands in a suggestive position near the other person's chest. Blushing furiously, she quickly shifted her arms away, keen to avoid more awkwardness. She could not help but allowed her eyes on a voyage over the slender body beneath her. There was something familiar about the soft curves.

_Oh gosh, she is beautiful. Slender body… the lean, sinewy arms…and her legs! Long slim legs accentuated by a pair of tight black denim jeans. And her skin, so soft and silky, smooth to the touch. Great job, Hermione; now I feel like a total lesbian. Hmm...her hair is very long…and silvery blonde! _

Hermione slowly inched her eyes upwards. A look at the face of the other person confirmed her worst suspicion.

Fleur Delacour. Hermione could not believe her luck.

Fleur definitely did not expect the brunette to be here. She had not seen anyone when she first entered the library except for the grouchy lady at the counter, and she was not expecting to find anyone in the library when the day was so fine.

Imagine her shock when her vision got obstructed by brown locks of hair. Fleur felt the wind being knocked out of her as her back hit the floor. And there was barely enough time for her to catch her breath before the other part landed heavily on her.

Fleur impatiently waited for the person to get off her. The face of the girl was covered by her mane of hair, which looked…familiar. Then, the brunette in front of her lifted her head slowly. It was almost a theatrical moment.

Their eyes met; like how they did several times before. Fleur froze. Looking into the beautiful brown eyes, the older woman was dumbstruck. So dumbstruck she was that she did not even register the younger woman leaping off her in frenzy. It was only until five seconds later that Fleur noticed the absence of her weight. She was gone.

A thousand questions ran through the part-Veela's mind, with not a single one of them having nothing to do with a certain enigmatic Ms Granger.

Fleur tossed away any thoughts of waiting-for-the-appropriate-moment or planning-how-to-approach-the-girl. She needed to talk to the brunette. Her body was feeling a strange ache at the sudden loss of the brunette's warmth. Fleur tried to ignore the ache, feeling like a pervert for her unspoken wish for physical contact with the younger woman.

Fleur leapt on to her feet and dashed out of the shelves section, just in time to see bushy brown hair whipped out of sight, out of the closing mahogany door.

Her legs immediately carried her towards the direction. Fleur knew that she was not exactly looking pristine and proper at that moment, but that was the least of her concerns. She shoved the heavy wooden door open so hard that it swung into the wall with a loud bang, a surprising display of strength not expected from a woman like her. Ignoring Madam Pince's angry shout, the blonde ran into the corridor, her heart running its own marathon against her ribcage in her anxiety.

A door snapped shut about five metres away.

Collapsing into a chair, Hermione took deep breaths to calm herself down. She was furious at herself. She almost lost control! The brunette caught herself slowly leaning in toward the blonde's touch, just in time before the worst happen.

The irate girl gave herself a mental slap and shook her head in frustration.

_What on earth is wrong with you Granger? She's taken by your best friend's brother! Wai-wait, even if she's not, she is a SHE. A female! It is totally inappropriate to want to be close to her! No, no, you know you don't just want to be pals with her. It doesn't make sense; you hated her like a thorn and now you want to be friends? You know it's more than that, Hermione. There's more to the feelings. It's about time you become a female and get in touch with your feeli-_

A sudden click broke the silence, and Hermione immediately wrenched her head towards the direction of the noise, realising with dread that she had forgotten to lock the door. Praying hard, the brunette hoped to see anyone other than...

Fleur Delacour.

The blonde had a slightly dishevelled appearance; her clothes were a bit ruffled and dusty. Her heavy breathing was a clear indication to the brunette that the blonde had just ran...after her.

Fleur shut the door softly behind her and then slowly approached Hermione, her gaze never leaving the younger woman's. When she was about two arms length away, she stopped.

Cerulean blue continue to meet confused brown eyes. The depths of her eyes seemed so alluring, almost mysterious. Despite her dishevelled appearance, she was still breathtakingly beautiful to the other woman, who tried her best to ignore the churning in her stomach. Fleur's eyes seemed to spoke a thousand thoughts. But not her; Fleur herself said nothing. She waited for the brunette to speak.

A minute passed, or maybe it was merely a few seconds. Either way, it felt like another cliché to Hermione, _eternity, _as she stood burning up under the intense gaze of the Frenchwoman.

Apparently realizing that Hermione was not going to say anything first, she spoke. Her voice deviated from her usual tone. It wasn't harsh, but it was slightly deeper. It caught Hermione by surprise; she could sense palpably the emotions laced intricately in to the voice of the other woman.

"A-are you all right?"

Yet again another surprise to the brunette was to hear the part-Veela stumble slightly over her words. Standing in front of her was not a Fleur that she was used to. It just didn't seem possible that the ever-confident Fleur Delacour could actually _stutter. _

"Why did you run after me?"

A slight pause.

"I want to talk to you."

"About?"

Another pause. Fleur glanced away uneasily. She stood there; body language subtly whispering of nervousness. Despite being clearly unrehearsed, her next sentence caught Hermione off guard.

"Why do you 'ate me so much?"

"I-I don't hate you…at all."

A surprised look danced over the blonde's features, followed by another look of incredulity.

"No, really. I-I don't hate you. It's just that…ARGH…I don't know how to put it."

"Are...are you 'aving some problems? Do you…do you want to talk about it? Maybe I can 'elp."

Her concern was eating at Hermione. Hermione hated it. It made her feel extremely guilty. She knew that she had not been treating Fleur in the friendliest of ways; there was no questioning the reason behind the intern's doubt in her confession.

But Hermione could not sit there in the room, being extended an offer of help, when the root of all her problems was personified right there and then, as a hopeful saviour.

"No, you won't be able to help."

Fleur flinched at the words that were uttered so coolly and harshly. Instinctively, her expression hardened and her eyes grew icy cold. Hermione braced herself for pain from the piercing glare of the blonde.

"I just 'ope zat we can be on better terms than we are now. Looks like I 'ope wrong."

"Why do you even care?"

"Why? Because I _want_ to. But seeing your reaction, maybe I shouldn't 'ave wasted my time and effort."

The Frenchwoman glared at the brunette with a challenging gaze before turning around to leave. However, her hand lingered slightly on the doorknob, as though she still has something to say. Hermione subconsciously held her breath.

A few moments passed with neither woman saying anything.

Then finally, Fleur swept out without a single glance back.

Hermione watched helplessly as the dust-covered woman vanished from her sight, wincing slightly when the door slammed shut.

Sighing, Hermione thrust her head forcefully onto her hands and hunched over, wondering what the hell had just happened. She berated herself harshly for being an idiot, going all ballistic when all that the woman wanted to do was to help. She was never good at handling people, and once again, she had to screw up by reacting the wrong way.

Hermione felt her chest constrict sickeningly. She wanted to pour every single word out to the blonde. She wanted to just heck all else and let go. But she was afraid. She was afraid of letting go of all her inhibitions. She was afraid of the possibility of getting close, so close to what she wanted, but not close enough like what she desired. She was even more afraid that she would not even get a chance to venture close. She was afraid of being broken when she was not even whole.

_Fleur... it's not that I feel that you are being nosy or anything. I appreciated your concern... but I feel that I don't deserve a single bit of it. It's not that I don't want to let you know; in fact, I am aching inside to let you know how I feel. What would your reaction be if I tell you that my problem lies in you? What would you say if I tell you that I like you? I have fallen for you, and I am scared of my feelings. I am scared that you would push me away when you find out. I don't think I can handle it when I have fallen so deep. I really don't know what to do._

_You are so perfect, so damn perfect, that you are so far out of my league. You are just like the sun; so high up and unattainable. Your beauty stretches far and touches many, and no matter how much I try to reach you, I will never be able to do so. You are my drug that incapacitates; stealing away my senses. With you around, I operate only on the love I feel for you, throwing all senses out of the window._

A soft whisper cut through the dusty air of the room.

"If only you knew how I feel…"


	13. Chapter 13

_A.N. Hey! I've completed the A's! I've conquered the A's! So now I'm officially back!_

_I think I have tortured you guys long enough with the dreadfully slow pace. Haha. This is what I am sure you guys have all been waiting for. Trust me when I say that from now on, the story will move faster. Promise :)_

_Reviews will make me one happy writer. :D Do let me know whether this chapter meets your expectations._

* * *

**Lure: Chapter 13**

"_Madame Maxime! A pleasant surprise! For what do I deserve the honour of this visit?"_

"_Bonjour Albus. I 'ave come to check on the progress of...our 'ope."_

"_Ah..."_

"_You mentioned that time we met zat eet ees dangerous to use ze owls regarding zis matter. Floo ees out of ze question as well. But I 'ave to keep myself in the know. So 'ere I am."_

"_That I did, my dear Olympe. I trust that Beauxbatons is doing well?"_

"_Bien sûr. Eet ees ze 'olidays, I trust zat my deputy 'ead can 'andle ze school wiz'out me for a few days. So, 'ow is Fleur doing?"_

"_Miss Delacour seems to be doing fine. I had a little chat with her a few days back; she seems to be adjusting well."_

"_Zat ees good to 'ear. And about their… relationship?"_

_The elderly gentleman narrowed his eyes, forehead creasing slightly. The sudden shift in his demeanor did not go unnoticed by the giant woman, who mirrored his expression._

"_They 'ave not…?"_

"_I'm afraid not. At least from what I have heard from Miss Delacour. It would seem that Miss Granger is being rather… difficult."_

"_Ees zere any'zing we can do?"_

"_I'm afraid not. But the good news is that this is a sign that it is progressing well. I trust that you know about the uniqueness of the Veela bond?"_

_The large woman nodded her head, but lines of worry still framed her features. _

"_The bond grows stronger as they overcome the tests that stand in the way of their relationships. I'm afraid I do not have much of an idea yet; this is merely my prediction. But I have a good feeling that it will be happening soon."_

_

* * *

_

Hermione lay in bed, unable to sleep. She has difficulty entering her dreams ever since she crashed into the Delacour a few days ago. Needless to say, her lack of rest has affected her studies. Minerva McGonagall had not been pleased with her favourite student's performance in class; several professors have also commented on her lack of energy in class. But at least, McGonagall has returned from her long break, and Hermione did not have to go through the torment of facing Delacour in class. After that little confrontation they had three days back, there was no questioning that it would be the most uncomfortable of moments when they meet. At the very least; to Hermione.

Hermione could not help that aching feeling of guilt that slowly devoured her during the past few days. She brushed it off at first; thinking that it would fade with time, but the feeling of guilt bugged her even more as days passed. It seemed to get worse the longer she went without seeing the blonde; which was ironic.

It was quite an encounter; definitely not one in which she made the best impression. But who cared about impressions? It was pretty obvious that they have not been on the best of terms with each other.

Still, there was no need to make things worse. And Hermione knew that. She silently cursed her atrocious habit of not thinking properly before she spoke; as a result offending the high and mighty Fleur with her words. She was willing to bet her grades that Fleur had never been rejected or shot down like that before.

_Maybe I was too harsh, she was just concerned. At least she had the courtesy to be concerned; or to _show _concern even if she wasn't really concern. Whatever the case, she tried, I know! Okay, I admit that I was too harsh, bu-but it was not as if I could help it! I mean, she is...she is- she has no bloody idea what she was doing to me! All right, perhaps she didn't mean to, but that doesn't lessen my suffering the least bit so what I did was completely justified!_

_..._

Hermione stuck her head into the pillow forcefully.

_Ah damn, Granger. Stop finding lame excuses. _

The brunette inhaled deeply, held her breath for a few seconds and then let out the air in her lungs with a deep sigh.

_Who the hell said that taking deep breaths helps to calm one down? _

_..._

_Okay, no excuses. Everything is just so confusing. I can't even stand in front of her without making a fool of myself. This can't go on, definitely, but how do I end it? It would be so much better if there is a guidebook or something. Ha. I doubt so. Loving by the book sounds so stupid and stereotypical. _

'_Hey Fleur, I would like to proclaim my love for you with this sonnet!' _

'_Oh my darling Fleur, let me sing my love to you!' _

'_Oh, my sweet flower, I pray thee, let me woo you with poetry and music! Wait, what's the page again?'_

_Dumb much._

_Fine, I guess I have to tell her on my own. Maybe I can just blurt it out. Not like it will be any different from how I usually embarrass myself in front of her anyway. _

_But that's not all..._

_She's a female._

_I'm a female._

_..._

_The Slytherins are going to have great fun._

_And there's stupid homophobia. Harry would probably be fine with us, but Ron... He's not exactly from a very modern family. I will give him the benefit of the doubt though. Think it will be very likely that he would want to watch us 'snog' or something crude. Gross pig. _

_But first, I still need to make 'us' a reality. _

_Oh gosh._

_Hermione Granger; count it on your brainy head to get yourself into such a fix. You are officially on the road to self-destruction._

* * *

Hermione Granger found herself standing outside the door to a certain Delacour's office the next day. She was determined to set things straight, but not before she has built up the courage to step in. The door was left slightly ajar, as though beckoning her to enter. Hermione was sure that Delacour was inside; she managed to catch a glimpse of the blonde while standing there. Though said blonde was still oblivious to the presence of the brunette outside her office.

_So much for being a Gryffindor. _

_All right, take deep breaths, Hermione; you can do it._

_In..._

_Out..._

_In..._

_Out..._

"Um, Professor- Professor Delacour?"

Fleur was sitting at her desk, shoulders slumped with her head in her hands, a picture of defeat. She jerked her head up when she heard the tentative voice. Her eyes narrowed when she saw the brunette, and she immediately stood up and walked towards her room door with strong strides.

It was obvious that she was not in the best of moods at that moment. And Hermione knew that she was not the person that Fleur would like to talk to at that point in time. But Hermione was not going to back down after the long period of torment that she went through.

"Wait Fl-fleur…P-professor Delacour…can I talk to you?"

The tall woman stopped in her tracks, defiantly looking straight ahead. Fleur did not throw a glance at Hermione; she just _could not _do so. Fleur was not one who took humiliation kindly.

"Oui? 'ow can I _help_ you?"

There was a cold, sharp edge in her tone as she stood with her back to Hermione, facing her room door. The shorter woman winced slightly when she caught the bit of sarcasm that the Delacour had injected into her voice.

"I'm sorry…for yesterday, for my…bluntness. I really didn't mean it that way. I do want to be on better terms with you, if you are willing. I apologize for my harsh reaction, for speaking without thinking."

Hermione paused. Her chest was bursting with the urge to just let go of everything. She could feel the mental dam she placed on her chaotic emotions threatening to give way. No longer could the young woman stand keeping everything bottled up inside. She realised that she craved the interaction with Fleur, no matter hostile or not. It was a masochistic desire to be close. Hermione subconsciously knew that she would be willing to take on anything for Fleur, though she has no idea where this feeling stemmed from.

Hermione has decided that she could not go on anymore.

Everything has to be thrown into the light. Including her...less-than-appropriate feelings.

"But really, things are more complicated than you know. I'm sorry for upsetting you if I did, for keeping it from you just now. I've never meant to hurt you with my words. Your concern really means a lot to me, more so than you are aware of. "

"Forget it. I'm not going to hide it, not anymore. Fl-fleur, I…_like _you. Your personality, your character, your beauty, _you_. Just looking at you makes me feel so much, all that I shouldn't be feeling. I'm drawn to you, so deeply drawn to you."

"I know that in the past, I haven't been giving you the best of attitudes. No more am I going to keep up with the façade anymore, to continue trying to keep you out and hiding my true self from you."

"I am letting you in. No, I am letting you have the choice. I know after what everything that I have done, you probably wouldn't give a damn about me. But I..._need y-you._"

"'ermione…"

"NO, let me talk. I need to get this all out before I lose the courage to do so. I don't want to face your rejection all over again. I know that it's impossible between us; after all, you don't even like me that way. I doubt you even swing this way. I'm confused still, at myself, at what I'm feeling. My mind's a mess; so is my heart. I don't even know who I am now, and this really scares me."

"You need not say anything. I know that we are two very different people; and that it's impossible for us to be together. You are a professor; I am just a mere student. You are so perfect, so much so that you are _perfectly, completely_ out of my league. I know that it's wishful thinking on my part. But even so, I can't stand keeping it all inside and not saying how I feel. I just hope that you won't avoid me too much after knowing this. I understand if you do, but I still hope that we can…remain as friends."

"I have fallen deep. There is no way I'll be able to go back to life before I had noticed your beauty; before I had fallen for you. Everything will never be the same again. My feelings will never change, even though it may hurt me. If you are happy, then I am satisfied. Even though I know that I will never be the one who can bring you this happiness. But I cannot bear the thought of not having you in my life. I just...need to let you know...I will take whatever you are willing to give me."

Hermione turned to leave, eyelids trembling as she struggle to contain the tears. She was not going to break down and make herself look like the pathetic lovesick fool that she knew she was.

All the while, Fleur just stood rooted to her spot. Hermione could not see her reaction to her words, since Fleur's face was turned away. Hermione sadly thought that maybe it would be better that way; she could not imagine handling the look of disgust or aversion etched on that beautiful face.

Hermione took the silence as her cue to leave. To her, that was much better than a downright and direct rejection. The young woman could not promise that she would not let loose all restrain if she was shot down brutally. She would be more likely to make a fool of herself if that had happened.

Hermione's eyes were wet, and the tears were threatening to spill any moment. She immediately started towards the door, not wanting to cry in front of the other woman. She did not want her to get the satisfaction from that. If Hermione had any say in Fate's doings, she did not even want to have anything to do with Fleur Delacour. That, of course, was impossible. Hermione Granger had already fallen deep into the abyss; too deep to wrench herself out of it.

A strong hand suddenly wrapped around Hermione's wrist, holding her fast. Hermione tried to wrench her hand free and stomp away, but Fleur was stronger than she appeared to be. The Frenchwoman continued to hold on tightly, resisting the brunette's stubborn pull, anchoring her down in the last place she wanted to be at that moment.

In Hermione's frustration, she threw her entire weight forward to get away, tears breaking free of her eyelids. The next thing she knew, strong arms were around her waist.

Frustration rushed forth and lashed at her captor in the form of words.

"LET ME GO. Now you are happy, aren't you? You have so much control; _so much._ It already hurts like crazy to tell you all this, especially when I know the outcome! Why can't you just make everything easier for me?"

Fleur did not flinch, nor did she move her arms. Instead, she pulled the younger woman closer and rested her chin on the top of her head.

In desperation, Hermione jerked and twisted, whacked and tugged, but strong, unyielding lean arms held her hostage, imprisoning her in the embrace. An embrace in which she always yearned to be in. An embrace of warmth. An embrace of pain.

Hermione did not want sympathy.

The desperate girl could feel her torturer behind her; so close, yet so far. Being locked in Fleur's arms made her feel weak and even more pathetic. She looked straight ahead towards the door through her tears; hating the blonde for not allowing her the peace and solitude to wallow in self-misery.

The dam finally burst. Tears flowed like a ceaseless stream down Hermione's face. She stopped resisting. The girl had lost herself. Lost herself in the arms of someone she hate and love.

Fleur seemed to sense that Hermione had stopped trying to escape and slowly turned the brunette around to face herself. Hermione's hands subconsciously found their way to the blonde's arms and gripped them tightly, fearing that she would slipped away out of her reach, out of her touch, out of her life. Hermione was scared to look into her face. She was frightened of what she would see there. She was frightened to see a gloating face laughing at her naivety. Instead, she buried her face into her captor's neck, craving for contact as the warm tears continued to burn and sting their way down her face.

The atmosphere was tense, but oddly calming at the same time. The two women shared a quiet moment. A slender, French-manicured hand found its way to the chin of the crying woman. Soft, smooth skin caressed the curves gently, capturing the escaping tears. Slowly, gently, the hand lifted Hermione's chin up, tilting her face so that the enigmatic Fleur Delacour could look into her eyes.

Then, lips met in the bittersweet moment.

Hermione pushed the intrusive woman away. She was angry at Fleur for messing around with her head, her heart; everything. She was angry at Fleur for being so gentle when all she expected from her was harshness. She was angry at herself for not being able to understand Fleur. She was angry at herself for loving the feel of Fleur's lips on hers.

"What do you think you are doing? I don't want your sympathy at all! Why can't you just leave me alone? Leave me alone! Please- please, stop it... Stop giving me false hope. I don't wan- I can't take it."

The look on Fleur Delacour's pristine face was one of annoyance; annoyance at getting pushed away once again. However, beneath the thin layer of annoyance was a hint of something else.

"Who said I pity you? Who said I am giving you false hope? I'm surprise, Ms 'ermione Granger. I thought you were never wrong, but eet seems like you are not always right."

The younger woman looked up in surprise into a face which held an expression that seemed to be a mix of bemusement and exasperation.

"I feel ze same way too. But I never knew 'ow to proceed with zings, when you always seem to avoid me, or treat me with hatred. I thought zat zat day after ze encounter een ze library I will finally be able to get through to you, to find out what's wrong, but non. 'owever, today's not too late either."

The woman broke into a smile; a soft, sweet one. A shimmer of affection decorated her cerulean blue orbs.

"And non, I don't zink we can remain as friends. Not when we can be more zan zat."

"W-what..."

"Zis, _mon cheri_."

And now, the air seemed thick with warmth and affection. The tall, slender woman closed the minimal gap between her and her partner.

"_May I?" _

Brown eyes closed to savour the moment as the blonde took the affirmation and leaned in for a kiss. Her hands rested on her partner's lower back, pushing their bodies closer together in desire. A small gasp escaped the surprised brunette who hesitated slightly before responding tentatively.

The kiss started slowly and sweetly. It all seemed surreal and unbelievable to both parties; though none of them cared to point it out, choosing instead to bask in the pleasures of the moment, to reaffirm reality through the touch of their lips. There was no urgency in the kiss. What they had, was time.

At least to them.


End file.
